


I Dream of Lucy

by Grin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Angst, M/M, References to Addiction, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, cuddle or die
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-14 11:43:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5742541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grin/pseuds/Grin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has a boring, normal life--a good job, a great boyfriend, and he's well on his way to a white-picket fence existence--and he couldn't be happier. Until he realizes that the dream life he's been living is just that: a djinn-induced fantasy. And it's not exactly the life he had always dreamed about.</p><p>For one thing, his boyfriend is the Devil.</p><p>For another, he might be the only thing keeping Sam alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sam padded quietly through the concrete innards of the abandoned warehouse, a bloody silver knife in his hand. He listened for some sign of their target, but there was nothing to suggest the place wasn't empty. It was the kind of quiet that only gathered inside sealed tombs; he knew that firsthand. Wherever Dean was, he hoped his brother was having more luck, because he felt like he had been stalking through junk in the dark trying not to twist an ankle for hours without getting anywhere.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. How big could this place be? It looked like an average-sized building from the outside, but inside the large, open space, the concrete floor was crossed with so many makeshift obstacles cobbled together from leftover parts and pieces that it was like a maze from a myth, complete with the monster.

A clank echoed through the building, coming from somewhere behind him and to his right. Sam ducked around what looked like giant, rusted gears piled one on top of the other and retraced his steps. Maybe he should be more apprehensive about coming upon whatever made that noise, but he was just ready to get the hunt over with at this point.

As he crept closer, he could hear a familiar voice muttering, and after turning a corner, he saw Dean standing with his back to him. He could imagine the dire look he was giving the hunk of falling metal that had dared scare the bejesus out of him. Sam moved towards him slowly, looking around for whatever else the noise may have attracted.

His only warning was a blue glow so faint that it hadn't caught his eye until it was in motion.

"Dean!" he yelled as the djinn shifted in the shadow of an upright car frame right beside his brother.

The creature obviously hadn't come face-to-face with hunters before, because when Dean swung around, he didn't move away quickly enough to avoid the knife. He went down heavily, and his brother did a quick scope of his surroundings to check for others before he struck the killing blow.

But before the knife came down, Dean froze, and Sam caught a glimpse of his horrified face right before a hand latched onto the exposed skin at the back of Sam's neck.

His lungs felt like they were working in reverse, trying their best to push all of the air out of his body and refusing to take in more. His vision went quickly, and the sound of his brother calling his name became more garbled until he couldn't hear anything. Not silent like a tomb, but like an underwater grave, so quiet he could hear his own thoughts. As he struggled against unconsciousness, the last words that crossed his mind, bitter and self-recriminating, were, _Of course there are two_.

 

* * *

 

Sam started awake, gasping in air until his lungs ached. He sat up, leaning forward and kneading his eyes like he could massage the dream right out of his brain. He ran a hand through his hair and made a noise of disgust when he found that it was soaked with sweat.

When he raised his head, a blue glow caught his eye. His heart rate picked up before he realized it was just the digital clock display. It was 2:36 AM.

"You okay?" came a sleep-rough voice from beside him in bed.

"Yeah. Weird dream."

"Want to talk about it?"

"There was a lot of running. Nothing exciting." He turned to look at the blond head buried into its pillows next to him as he moved to get up. Before he could get on his feet a cold finger darted out and snagged him by the back of his boxer briefs.

"I don't know, sounds pretty exciting to me." Sam laughed at the interested tone and swatted the hand away.

"I'm going to get some water. You need anything?" he asked, dragging his feet across the floor as he moved towards the stairs, hoping the friction would keep the wood from leeching his warmth. All he got in response was a muffled grunt, which he interpreted as a "no."

Feeling his way through the dark, he thought back over the dream. It was already fading, but some parts of it still stuck out to him. It had been an enclosed space, amorphously large and dark. Dean had been there. He could remember the tense atmosphere, the feeling like he was stalking dangerous prey, though he hadn't hunted a day in his life. And those strange, glowing designs--he could almost see them now, moving along the walls in the living room. He shuddered and flipped on the light switch when he reached the bottom of the stairs, banishing the ghosts back to his nightmares.

When Sam reached the kitchen, he grabbed a rag and ran it under water, then used it to scrub his face and make his hair feel, if not drier, then cleaner. He filled up a glass from the tap and took a sip, rubbing the rag along the back of his neck where the dream phantom had grabbed him. It had definitely been more unsettling and vivid than his usual dreams, which were mostly about arguing the wrong case in court or missing classes, despite having finished law school almost six years ago. He had no idea what events in the waking world had caused his unconscious mind to come up with such a fantasy, but maybe the monsters were representative of more mundane worries. Maybe the warehouse meant that he needed more storage space.

He slung the rag over his shoulder and carried his glass of water back upstairs, turning off the light and then immediately stubbing his toe. He suffered in silence all the way back up to their room. He drank the rest of the water slowly and set the empty glass down on his nightstand before tossing the rag into the dirty clothes hamper. He took advantage of his interrupted sleep to use the restroom, then climbed slowly back into bed, not wanting to wake the other occupant.

"Still thirsty?" Luke asked suggestively, swinging his arm out in a wide arc to touch him. Sam chuckled when just the tips of his fingers grazed his side, then started laughing in earnest when they started tickling. He rolled over onto the arm, immobilizing it.

"You should go back to sleep. We've got to get up early to go to your brother's," he murmured, looking down into the heavy lidded blue eyes peering up at him. The brows above them knitted in an exaggerated frown.

"Or--and this is just a suggestion--we could not do that," Luke said. He rubbed stubble like coarse grit sandpaper against Sam's arm, then started pressing kisses against his skin along an upwards path until they were face-to-face. He snaked the arm not currently trapped beneath him around his waist. "We both have tomorrow off, and I can think of a million better ways to spend our three-day weekend than with Michael, off the top of my head."

"I promised Dean," Sam said sternly. Luke buried his face in his neck and made a disgruntled sound. "You said you would. Or were you lying?" he needled, his voice filled with amusement. The noise the blond made this time was louder and indignant, vibrating against his skin.

"Fine," he said petulantly, throwing himself back against his pillows. "But those million things I was talking about? We're doing them all over Michael's house. Everywhere." He drew the last word out into three spiteful syllables, pointing a finger at Sam for emphasis.

"Uh-huh," he agreed placatingly, leaning down and kissing him goodnight.

"I mean it. I have a whole plan. We'll start with the beds, then move on to the couches. The chairs will be trickier, especially the rocker, but you're resourceful and I'm flexible; we'll figure it out."

"Mm'hmm," Sam hummed while he allowed Luke to re-situate his trapped arm. He rolled over and pressed his back against him, held tightly by an arm resettling around his waist. He curled up and pulled the covers up to his neck, Luke's ranting a comforting drone in his ear; Sam was right where he should be. He caught something about "dinner" and "not forked in a good way" before he drifted back to sleep, dream forgotten.


	2. Chapter 2

The alarm went off and Sam woke up slowly, stretching out so that he could fully appreciate how comfortable his bed was. He poked his head above the swell of blankets and looked at Luke still sleeping, curled up in a tight ball and teetering on the edge of the bed. That was how he usually ended up in the morning, which probably meant that Sam was the bed hog in this relationship, but that was an accusation that he would neither confirm nor deny.

He hopped out of bed and turned off the alarm, more for his sake than Luke's, who could sleep through Dean's early morning rendition of Simple Man when he accompanied himself on the pots and pans. He could also get ready in a matter of minutes, much to Sam's chagrin, so he let him sleep a little longer. He puttered around the room, laying out clothes and double checking their luggage to make sure they had packed everything they would need that they couldn't easily replace once they got to Michael's house.

He went over his checklist one more time. He had made sure that all of Luke's least inappropriate clothing had made its way into his duffel. He had called the firm again yesterday to reassure himself that it wouldn't burn down without him. He and Luke didn't have any pets or plants that needed to be cared for. The repetition calmed his nerves. He had plenty of time to stress himself out on the long drive over to Michael's house, where he would be meeting the mysterious eldest brother for the first time and then room with him and the rest of the Novaks for the weekend until Michael's wedding.

Sam tried to tell himself that he wasn't walking unsuspecting into a den of hungry wolves. He had met many of them already, once or twice, and they had seemed like nice people. They were probably just a family like his own, painfully boring and normal, who gathered on holidays and special occasions, enjoying the memories and enduring the arguments that came from knowing one another too long. But the way Luke talked about them, it was like he had grown up in the kind of family that reality TV empires were built around. And Luke could be dramatic, but he was always bluntly and, sometimes, brutally honest.

One of Luke's stories that had stuck with him most was about how his younger brother Gabriel had terrorized one of Luke's boyfriends by leaving dissected stuffed animals next to him while he slept. Understandably freaked out, the guy had confronted Gabriel about it, and he had told him that he was "working his way up to squirrels." That was when Luke's boyfriend had become Luke's ex.

So when Luke had received his invitation to the wedding and had asked Sam to go, Sam thought that his concern about how welcome he would be was justifiable, especially considering they had only been dating a few months, even if they had known each other for years. But Luke had made it very clear that he would be taking full advantage of his plus one allowance or he wouldn't be going. Sam couldn't imagine himself in his place and not attending Dean's wedding; he didn't want to be the reason that Luke didn't show, so here he was, hanging the man's suit beside his own on the bedroom door so that he wouldn't forget them on the way out.

"'Morning, babe," Luke rumbled sleepily. He could sleep through the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade if it marched through their living room, but he always seemed to sense when Sam was up and about and woke accordingly.

"Hey, sleepyhead." He still felt awkward using childish nicknames, but the way Luke's mouth contorted over his suppressed laughter was worth the embarrassment. "Rise and shine," he continued in a sweet falsetto, ruffling the short blond hair.

Luke caught his arm and yanked him down. After a brief struggle with constricting sheets and a bout of helpless laughter, Sam was lying half on top of him, soaking in the heat of his sleep-warm skin.

"We've got to get up and get ready," he insisted, and Luke's arm tightened around him in a physical rebuttal. It was very convincing. "I've still got to shower, and you need to shave." He proved his point by kissing his stubbly jawline, and Luke made a needy noise deep in his throat that threatened to keep them both there for a while longer, if he let it. He gave in a little and kissed him again, this time on the lips.

"You also need to brush your teeth," Sam said, pulling away and wrinkling his nose. Luke gave an unflattering grunt.

"Sure, as soon as you get your hip out of my bladder," he groused, shoving at Sam, who rolled easily off of him. He smiled to himself, eyeing his boxer-clad boyfriend appreciatively as he got up and tromped over to the bathroom.

He bustled around the bed, tugging sheets and blankets into their proper place. When he was finished, he made one more round of the room, making sure everything was in order. He saw last night's water glass sitting on his nightstand and snatched it before moving towards the stairs.

He slowed on the first few steps when he heard a low voice talking in the living room. The sound yanked the dream from his memory like an abscessed tooth, and the details he had forgotten spilled over him in a rush. The chill air of the apartment became close and smothering; sweat broke out over his entire body. Unseen hands groped at him, shoving and pulling in every direction. His hand darted out to grab the banister before he could tumble down the stairs.

Unfortunately, he wasn't as quick with the glass. It fell from his nerveless grip, clanking loudly down the steps but, miraculously, not breaking. Thank God it wasn't actually glass. Its descent sounded even louder in the sudden silence from the living room.

"Sam?" came the tentative question from downstairs.

He stood there for a moment, letting the fear dwindle until he could remind himself that he wasn't in any danger. _There are no such things as monsters_. He thought that had been obvious since the last time he had heard those words when he was five, but he found that today he needed the reminder. He took a fortifying breath and walked down the stairs into the rest of the apartment, collecting the glass along the way.

Dean was standing in the middle of the living room in his layers of plaid shirts and jeans, familiar as the sun, looking him over with a critical eye. Sam managed to scrape up a weak smile that became more genuine the longer he held it, and his brother relaxed at the signal that he was okay.

"Did I wake you up?" Dean asked without any remorse.

"No. But you could have called, or at least knocked like a normal person," Sam said, but the teasing fell a little flat. He was still shaken.

"Then what's the point of giving me a key?" he asked, rattling his keychain obnoxiously like it was his free pass to skulk around like a burglar. Sam rolled his eyes, then realized that his brother wasn't the only other person in the room.

"Uh, hi, Cas," he said with as much dignity as he could muster, considering he was in his underwear. To Cas' credit, he gave Sam a perfunctory but warm smile like nothing was amiss. The shorter man looked smart in a white button down shirt and dark jeans, and seeing the two of them together still made Sam stupidly happy, even nearly six years later. He couldn't have picked someone better for his brother himself.

"Hello, Sam. I apologize for coming over unannounced," Cas said, but his lazer-like gaze had refocused disapprovingly on Dean, who avoided his ire with practiced nonchalance.

"It's alright. It's not your fault," Sam said exclusively to Cas, and then smirked when Dean shot him a wounded look. He turned and started walking towards the kitchen, talking to them over his shoulder. "So why are you two here so early?"

"We had some, uh, last minute shopping to do. Then we thought we'd swing by and hang out here until we head out, since we're already packed and ready to go," Dean said. Sam gave him a suspicious look, but his brother didn't go into detail about their "shopping." He would have to get it out of him later when he got him alone. If he thought he had to hide it, it was sure to be entertaining.

"We'll probably be ready in another half hour or so. Luke's still upstairs," he said unnecessarily. The townhome was small enough that there wasn't really anywhere else he could be. He quickly washed the glass, then dried it off and put it back in the appropriate cabinet, after a few wrong turns. They hadn't been living there long enough for him to memorize how the new kitchen layout was different from the old one.

"Take your time, no rush. You know, I can't believe your work let you take a day off. That place runs you ragged," Dean said disapprovingly, slouching down onto the couch and flinging his arm across the back. He had "making himself at home" down to an artform. Sam hid a smile as Dean patted the couch next to him and Cas sat down, leaning comfortably against him beneath his outstretched arm. Yeah, it was cute, but he was a grown man, dammit.

"You're one to talk. You basically live at Hale Mary's," Sam retorted, making his way to the living room and leaning back against the banister at the bottom of the stairs. If there was one thing that could give Dean's family stiff competition for his love, it was that restaurant. _He might even love it more than Baby_. Sam almost crossed himself at that blasphemous thought.

"Yeah, but there are people at restaurants, Sam. Food. What do you do at that office all day, huh? Hunch over your desk and read papers until your eyeballs fall out?" Dean made an unpleasant squelching noise and used his index fingers as trajectories. Cas' eyebrows lifted slightly in what Sam liked to think was an expression of long-suffering fondness.

"I like my job," he said simply with a shrug, and it was the truth. Being a district attorney was a lot of paperwork and flipping through law books, and it wasn't as glamorous or easy as it looked on TV, but every now and then, he was able to bring justice to people who thought that no one could help them. He could protect people who had been violated, and make sure that the ones who had done it paid for it. That made everything else worth it.

"Well, you can keep it," Dean said with a dismissive wave. Then his eyes lit up like a kid's at a pinball machine. "Hey, you remember how I was looking for a sous chef? I finally found someone." He drummed excitedly on the arm and back of the couch, being careful not to jostle the man beside him. "Can you believe it? Me, with a sous chef? I'm going to be the American Gordon Ramsay."

"You're certainly loud enough," came Luke's voice from the stairs. He was still in his boxers, but he walked to the last few steps and leaned forward on his forearms against the banister.

"Hello, Luke," Cas said with slight reproach.

"Hey, Cas. Sam's brother," he said, nodding to each of them in turn. Sam sighed. Luke knew damn well who his brother was, but when he and Dean had first met years ago, there had been an instant enmity between them, the likes of which Sam had never seen before or since. Dean had been very vocally opposed to his relationship with Luke from the start, and Luke hadn't been shy about telling Dean what he thought of him right back. Eventually, Sam's stubborness had worn them down until, now, they only picked on each other to remind everyone else that they didn't get along.

"Sam, are you going to shower with me, or am I going to have to soap myself up?" Luke continued before Dean could get a word in edgewise. Sam felt his face heat up, and he glanced sheepishly at their guests. Dean was glowering at Luke, but Cas looked like his expectations were already too low to be disappointed. Sam escaped, scampering past Luke and up the stairs.

"Watch some TV or something. We'll be out in a minute," he called down to assure them that they wouldn't be doing more than showering. Whether they believed him or not--he couldn't do anything about that. He went into the bedroom and pulled Luke, who had followed him, in after him before shutting the door.

"You didn't have to do that," he said exasperatedly. Luke rubbed a thumb against his cheek, and it was almost ice cold against his flushed skin.

"We're two grown men in a relationship and we live together. If they didn't know that we get naked and touch each other by now, then it was time to break it to them," he said, but he looked entirely too self-satisfied.

"You're going to make me regret saying yes, aren't you?" It was going be a truly miserable weekend if Luke and Dean were at each other's throats the entire time. The blond man pressed up against him until Sam had to angle his head down to keep eye contact.

"No. That's my family's job." He pecked Sam on the lips. "Now come on. If you don't shower with me, you're not getting any hot water." With that said, he swaggered off to the bathroom.

Besides a little grab-assing, they managed to get through the shower without getting too sidetracked. After drying himself off, Sam put on jeans and a gray V-neck shirt, which wasn't usually his style, but his boyfriend had picked it out and it was extremely comfortable. Underneath Luke's ever-present black bomber jacket, he was wearing a t-shirt with a letter "I" next to a stylized heart above a picture of a rooster. Sam thought about telling him to change, but it really was one of his tamer shirts, and he wouldn't win anyway.

They both started moving their luggage downstairs, where Dean and Cas had picked up watching an episode of MST3K from where he and Luke had left off last night. Well, Cas was staring quizzically at the screen while Dean tried to explain what "mooning" was. Sam sent up a silent prayer that he wasn't about to witness a demonstration.

"Alright, lovebirds, chop chop. Time to hit the road," Luke said, parking himself and his stuff in front of the TV. Dean shut it off without looking at the remote, more interested in the glaring contest he had started with Luke. That's what Sam thought was happening, anyway. It was difficult to tell, since Luke had put on sunglasses. Sam made it a point to walk between them and gave Luke a little nudge before opening the door.

They headed outside, Dean walking in front next to Cas, who had graciously shouldered a bag. Sam caught Dean's muttered, "Your brother's an ass," but missed whatever Cas responded in a matter-of-fact tone before handing his bag over to be maneuvered into the Impala's already crowded trunk. Sam looked at Luke, who had either missed the exchange or had heard it enough times that he didn't care; both were equally likely. After watching Dean wrestle futilely with the bags for a few minutes, Sam took pity on him and gently pushed him out of the way so that he could unload the trunk and repack it properly.

"It would have fit," Dean complained.

"Next time, I'll pack," Cas said, patting him consolingly on the shoulder, and Dean gave him a look of utter betrayal. Sam finished with the trunk and slammed the lid closed hard enough that Dean turned a baleful eye on him.

"That should be it. Just got to lock up," Sam informed them, already walking back towards the open door. He grabbed the doorknob to close it. After a second, he stepped closer and stood on the threshold, looking in, his grip loosening. He had a nagging feeling that he couldn't pinpoint, like he was forgetting something. That was a very real possibility, no matter how many times he had gone through his checklist, but he had made sure the oven was off, and his wallet was in his pocket. This was bigger, like he wasn't supposed to go, but he couldn't remember why. He wouldn't forget something that important, right?

The Impala's horn blaring from right behind him made him jump, and he gave Dean a sour look through the car's rear window before he closed the door and locked it. He opened the back car door to the sound of the radio belting out power chords and settled into the seat next to Luke, moving closer until their arms and legs touched.

"You forget something?" Luke murmured into his ear as Dean started the car and pulled out of the driveway.

"I guess we'll see," Sam said with resignation, turning to him with a wan smile.

"This isn't Makeout Point," Dean called back while narrowed green eyes watched their every move in the rearview mirror. Luke pulled Sam towards him and planted a kiss that he couldn't help but sink into until he broke away at Dean's inarticulate shout of outrage.

"Have either of you eaten?" Cas asked, heading off what looked to be a very stern lecture about who was definitely not allowed to do what in the backseat of his Baby. Sam returned the courtesy by giving Luke a warning smack to the stomach when he opened his mouth to say whatever inappropriate response came to mind. He gave an overreacted "oof" and bent over, shooting Sam a mournful gaze while he held himself around the middle like his intestines were falling out. Sam rolled his eyes, unmoved.

"No, we haven't," Sam supplied, and it turned out that no one else had either. Luke insisted on wings, and since he was not on the short list of people who Dean trusted to eat in his car, they decided to make a detour at the next sports bar they saw. While Luke and Dean argued about whether Luke could order a beer when Dean wasn't allowed, Sam settled in for the long haul, trying to put the feeling that there was something he was missing out of his mind.


	3. Chapter 3

The remaining hours spent driving to Michael's went by smoothly, except for a few speed-bumps on the topics of good music and bad directions. By the time they arrived, Sam may even have admitted to having fun on the short road trip; however, he wouldn't dare say that around Dean, or his brother would never stop trying to abduct him on his way to whatever destination he had in mind. If Dean didn't have a job keeping him in one place, he would have lived on the road, but Sam had always been more of a homebody.

Michael's house, if so reserved a word could be used to describe the behemoth, emerged from the surrounding woods like a chorus line from behind a curtain. Walls of red brick stretched three stories above beautifully manicured lawns where not one leaf was evident despite the season. Fluted columns barred the entrance like an ancient temple of worship with a row of cypresses standing guard to either side. At the gate that blocked the veritable street of a driveway, the stone wall that encircled the property disappeared into the woods in both directions, not to be seen again.

When the gates opened after a short conversation via intercom, they continued past the house and the front circle drive to the garage in the back. Sam watched its retreat; he was no stranger to impressive buildings, living in San Francisco, but he thought he would have heard Luke mention that his brother lived in a manor. His eyes slipped to the man beside him.

Luke was staring resolutely ahead, slumped in his seat like he was trying to make himself smaller, which was so out of character that Sam ran a hand over his thigh to get his attention. His expression, when he looked at him, was one of a man who had swum out into the ocean on a dare to find that the current was dragging him under. Sam twined his fingers around his, and Luke squeezed briefly before taking his hand back.

They parked in a large garage, crowded enough that they were probably one of the last to arrive. Dean hopped out of the car with a shout as soon as they had parked, and Sam wondered what the hell was going on until he saw the car they had parked next to. He read "'cuda" written on the back bumper, but from the way his brother was walking circles around it, crooning and visibly holding himself back from running his hands over the glossy black paint, it meant more to him than it did to Sam. It was gorgeous, he had to admit, and obviously well-loved, but while he knew his way around a car, by dint of his father's teachings, cars weren't really his hobby, much less an obsession the way they were for Dean. He leaned against the Impala's trunk, making himself comfortable. This could take a while.

Luke slunk slowly out of the backseat, giving the car beside them a much different look than Dean before coming to stand beside him. Sam wished he knew how to read what he was thinking behind that carefully controlled expression, but he knew that prying wouldn't get him anywhere right now. They stood there quietly, shoulders touching. Sam hoped that the contact would give him the comfort that words couldn't. Cas collected Dean with promises that he would get to see the car again, and they got their luggage and followed him over a winding paved path to the back door.

"What does Michael do for a living?" Sam asked Cas, appreciating how immense the place was as they approached.

"I believe he owns a munitions company," he said, and Sam made a soft sound of acknowledgment, taking in their surroundings as they walked onto the veranda past sheared shrubs and shedding trees. Cas maneuvered his bag from one hand to the other then rang the doorbell.

"Cassie!" was shouted out of the door as soon as it swung open a second later. Following the outburst was Gabriel, a hurricane masquerading as a brown-haired man with brown eyes almost the color of amber, a few inches shorter than Cas, who was already the shortest of their group. Luke's childhood stories played on a loop in Sam's head like the theme of a horror movie. "Glad that you could make it. I know, I thought the invitation was a joke, too, when I got it. What do you know? Turns out Mikey's actually getting married. Come on in. Mind the children, they bite." He turned to the rest of them as Cas walked past.

"Dean!" he barked, and Dean straightened nervously. "I heard you made Cassie cry."

"What? I--no," Dean stuttered, so flustered that if Sam hadn't known it wasn't true, he would have been certain of his brother's guilt.

"Good to know," he said easily, scooching out of the way so that Dean had to squeeze past him to get inside the door. "'Cause if you did, you would never get another pie as long as you lived," he stage whispered, and Dean looked sufficiently cowed by the threat. Gabriel was a professional pastry chef, and Sam, who wasn't big on sweets, could eat one of his pies in a single sitting; he was sure that his brother would beg if it came down to it, dignity be damned. Dean trailed Cas deeper into the house, glancing behind now and then with a worried sort of confusion.

"Sam. Good to see you," Gabriel continued, turning a twinkling grin on him, and cold panic seized his heart. Then his attention turned to Luke, and Sam felt like the guillotine his neck had been stuck in had jammed. "So you're robbing cradles now, huh?"

"Corrupting the innocent's a lifestyle," Luke said flatly. Gabriel let loose a high sound like a horse's whinny and hooked an arm around his brother's back.

"Come here, you old devil. Thanks for dragging him here, Sam," he said with warm sincerity, and Sam gave him an uncertain smile.

"Yeah, thanks a lot," Luke hissed through a scowl, but he snagged off his sunglasses and draped an arm around Gabriel as the shorter man steered him past Sam and into the kitchen after taking his bag and setting it down next the door beside the other bags. Sam's luggage joined it and he walked along behind them past the gleaming kitchen that looked like it belonged in a restaurant and, after finding Dean and Cas waiting for them, into a living area larger than the entire first floor of their town home.

It was a picture right out of one of the magazines his mother would sometimes skim through--a large bay window, looking out over a patio and a covered in-ground pool to the forest beyond, hardwood floors under a sprawling oriental rug, and a proportionally gigantic fireplace on the far wall. He walked up beside Luke, who was still caught in Gabriel's death grip, and tried not to fidget when the attention of everyone in the room turned to them.

"Look who decided to join the circus," Gabriel said proudly, presenting Luke with a flourish like a ringmaster showcasing his prized lion. The others in the room burst into motion, rising to greet the newcomers and jostling the kids from their perches. They exchanged pleasantries; Anna, followed closely by a young boy, greeted them warmly with a half-hug and an added kiss to the cheek for Luke and Cas, while Raphael settled for a stiff, "Hello, it's been a while," to Luke before going down the line shaking hands. Dean and Cas were quickly engaged in conversation, intercepting who Sam assumed was Michael and his wife, Naomi, before they could finish their introductions. Sam relegated himself to the sidelines of the group while his attention wandered back to Luke.

"Charles, get over here," Luke was beckoning impatiently to an older boy, eleven or twelve, standing off to the side. The kid approached warily like he wasn't sure how he should behave. Luke gathered him up under his wing, hugging him to his side.

"How've you been?" Luke asked. Charles muttered something. "Huh?" The boy repeated himself.

"What, you're too old for hugs? Who's been telling you that? Was it Zach? It was, wasn't it?" When Charles hesitated, Luke relented and stuck out a hand to shake.

"No, you're right. When you're too old, you're too old." Relieved, Charles took his hand, and Luke tugged him into a fierce embrace that resembled a grapple hold. Charles wriggled out of his grip with a shout of protest, but Sam saw him hide a pleased smile as he escaped back to the couch where two other kids were sitting, avoiding the adults.

"I thought his name was Uriel," Sam confided, sidling up to Luke, who looked the happiest he'd seen him since they had arrived.

"Yes, unfortunately. Our family tradition: scarring kids for life," Luke said with a snort as he watched the animated discussion happening nearby. Sam's eyes cut to him sharply, but he seemed more contemplative than bitter. "Raphael's the only one who calls him that. Then there's Anna's youngest, Samandriel, but her ex picked that gem out, so it wasn't completely her fault. With a name like 'Gadreel,' it could have been a lot worse."

"He seems like a good kid," Sam continued instead of saying what he was thinking, that he'd never seen Luke treat a child with anything other than mild horror and disgust.

"He's my favorite," he said conspiratorially. Sam raised his eyebrows at him. "It's okay, the others already know that they're inferior." His eyebrows climbed higher until a wicked grin that crinkled the corners of Luke's eyes surprised a laugh out of him. Then Luke's expression drained into a look of pained resignation and Sam turned around, searching for the source.

Michael had excused himself from his conversation with the others and was walking towards them. He was slightly shorter than Sam, so he was tall, blond-haired, and blue-eyed like Luke, making Sam wonder where Gabriel got his looks, but what threw Sam was that, even taking the superficial similarities into account, he was very familiar. Too familiar, for someone he had never met until now.

"You must be Sam. I don't know what Luke's told you about me, but I'm Michael, his brother," he said, holding out a hand that Sam accepted.

"It's nice to meet you," he replied politely. He couldn't say that he'd heard anything about him, because the truth was that if it wasn't for Cas having mentioned him once or twice and the invitation, Sam would have never known that Luke had an older brother. Michael gave him a small but genuine smile before turning to the other man.

"Hello, Luke," Michael said, his smile becoming brittle. He held out a hand, and Sam watched as Luke studied his brother like they were meeting on a battlefield, not making any move to return the gesture. Michael let his hand drop, his lips curling into a wry smirk that Sam recognized as a family trait.

"You haven't changed a bit, little brother," he continued wistfully, and the tone was wrong, but Sam remembered.

_"Please, Michael--" he heard himself plead, though he didn't feel any of the tangle of emotions conveyed in those two words._

_"You know, you haven't changed a bit, little brother," the tall, blond man in front of him--his brother, his half-brother--said to his face before launching into his self-righteous, condescending diatribe. And Sam felt it then, the alien, all-encompassing rage of Lucifer being pushed too far when the archangel had never been on stable footing to begin with._

_Forced back in his own body, Sam railed against the consciousness commandeering his form, but he was hopelessly outmatched. Lucifer was incomprehensible, and Sam couldn't begin to figure out how to divert his attention, much less regain control when he was this intent on his actions. And he could see what he was doing, in flashes--Cas, and Bobby, and Dean, oh God, Dean. Then he was struggling desperately, his single cogent thought the knowledge that he would be killing the last of his family if he didn't win against the Devil right now._

_He didn't understand what happened then, but years later he realized that in a way he had died. For a moment, his reasoning mind slipped into a part of himself that Lucifer couldn't reach, the animal brain that still crouched in the center of hundreds of thousands of years of evolution, from which angels had never benefited and by which they had never been constrained. He was stripped of everything that made him human and, still driven by the instinct to protect his brother, he had re-emerged in time to stay his fist._

_His open hand hovered over the bleeding, unrecognizable mask of his brother's face. He wanted to kneel there in the dirt and hold him, to feel him breathe. The hardest decision he had ever made until that moment was tearing himself away from Dean, but the easiest was taking those rings and banishing Lucifer, Michael, and himself to their well-deserved interment in the Cage._

Now, here he was, facing a man who looked like Adam might have in a few decades if he had lived, standing next to Sam's boyfriend, the Devil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everybody. Just wanted to tell you all sincerely, thanks for the kudos and bookmarks so far. And I also wanted to give fair warning that I have absolutely no idea where I'm going with this fic. The rating may change at some point, and I'm not sure how regular updates will be. It's all a pretty big experiment for me, but don't be shy--drop a line, comment, critique, point out discrepancies, write a haiku or something. I also hope that you get some enjoyment out of it along the way, because honestly, that's the whole point. Thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

"I'm glad that the both of you could make it," Michael said, regaining some of his good humor. Mere seconds must have passed, because no one was staring at Sam like he was mad, though he was quietly breaking down.

"Sam?" Except for Luke--for Lucifer, worried and speaking his name so gently. And that was too much for him, standing here in a room of angels who thought they were human. Dead people who thought they were alive. He was going to vomit.

"I'm sorry, where's your bathroom?" he managed before pressing his lips and teeth closed over a scream, his eyes skittering over faces until landing on Michael, who looked different enough to be safe from stirring memories.

The words were barely out of the other man's mouth before he was babbling his thanks and heading in the indicated direction. Until he had shut the door and locked it behind him, he hadn't realized he had been holding his breath. He filled his lungs and propped his weight on his hands on the counter, finding comfort in the relative normalcy of the bathroom. It was the only place in this mansion that wasn't ridiculously oversized.

He stared at himself in the mirror without actually seeing anything, thinking back over the past few days and disentangling the two separate, but equally real timelines from each other. Yesterday, Luke had surprised him at work, bringing him food from that new Greek place, Markos', that they had wanted to try. He had told him about a woman who had snuck her small dog into the library in her purse, and when it had peed on the books she had borrowed that she was also carrying, she had left them on a table in the back and walked out. He couldn't believe that being a librarian could be so vexing, but Luke always had new stories and people to complain about. After he had left, Sam had worked on his current case building evidence against an alleged serial arsonist who targeted abortion clinics, but he was unable to focus completely because his thoughts kept drifting towards today's trip. When he got home, he had spent the afternoon alternating between winding himself up and Luke calming him down while they packed until they finished and settled in for the night.

Yesterday, he had also woken up too early because whoever had stayed in the motel room before him and Dean hadn't reset the clock alarm. For breakfast, they had gotten whatever was quickest and cheapest, which turned out to be Papa John's, and they had spent the ride to the first warehouse drilling everything they knew about djinn between bites of pizza like they would be quizzed on it later. Dean had waxed poetic about what a fox Barbara Eden was on I Dream of Jeannie, and Sam had admitted that he had always been more of a Bewitched fan, after which he had learned the useless but nonetheless amusing information that Dean could wiggle his nose like Samantha. After the third warehouse turned out to be as abandoned as everyone thought it was and an equally disappointing lunch, they caught wind of another abduction on the police radio that opened up the possibility of another location. Getting in there took a bit more planning, and money to get past the guards, but they were sure this was the place. And it turned out it was, from what Sam could remember of those last moments.

He had never been under the influence of a djinn, and Dean had never spoken to any length about his own experience, but he never would have imagined that some mid-level monster could make him believe that he had lived two lives, simultaneously, and in such detail. His eyes swept over the intricate mouldings on the ceiling, the glittering quartz of the vanity cold under his hands, all of it real and immediate to his senses. And even knowing that this was all a construct, a part of him still wanted Luke to be here, to help him make sense of what was happening. Luke, his boyfriend when he had never dated a man before in his life. Luke, who looked exactly like Lucifer's old vessel.

That was another part of this illusion that he couldn't wrap his mind around. If the purpose was to keep him complacent so that the djinn could feed, why tip him off by taking such radical liberties? Dean had said that the fantasy was concocted by the victim's own desires, but this narrative was pretty damn far from anything that would tempt him to stay here. But in the other direction, if he had been poisoned by a fear djinn, next to what he had suffered in the Cage, this place was a vacation. Either way, he thanked whatever had made him aware, be it the djinn's sloppy workmanship or his brother's fanatical preparation, because now he could start on his next task: getting the hell out of here.

That had been one aspect of getting stuck in a dreamworld that Dean had only had to tell him once. Death was the only way out from the inside. So he set about on his grim errand, looking for anything he could use to end his time in this false reality, wondering why it couldn't just fade like other dreams did in the light of day. He had ironically had his fill of dying for a lifetime.

The mirror had no medicine cabinet behind it. The drawers were also empty of anything practical, but there were cleaning chemicals under the sink. It was only a half-bath, so there was no shower curtain to fashion into a noose, but maybe he could drown himself in the sink. Break the mirror and use the shards to slit his wrists.

He sank onto the toilet lid, his head in his hands, an unbearable pressure building behind his eyes. _This isn't real_ , he told himself firmly. But it felt as real as his life flowing out of him and into Crowley in that tiny church, as real as talking to Death face-to-face when he had been so ready to die. Since then, he had lost his penchant for self-sacrifice. He had tricked himself into believing that his life was worth living. _And you won't get to live it if you don't get out of here_ , he reasoned, but he still didn't move from his seat.

Someone knocked, and he hated that he could tell it was Luke by the way he tapped his first two knuckles one after the other against the door. A shout telling him to go away was on the tip of his tongue.

"I'm almost done," he said instead, trying to sound peeved, but the words rang hollow.

"Sam," Luke said, drawing the syllable out before going silent. Sam wondered if he was expected to respond before he continued. "Little pig, little pig, let me in."

 _You're not real_ , he wanted to say, _go away_. He didn't want to see that face again, even if it wasn't him.

"Luke, it's--I'm okay. It's probably just food poisoning or something. Go back in there, I'll be out in a sec," he said, and that excuse sounded thin even to his ears. There was a sigh from the other side of the door.

"Okay, you got me. I'm trying to find a place to hide from my adoring family, so let me in," he said, and Sam could hear him shift where he was leaning against the door.

"There are like a hundred other rooms you could hide in," Sam retorted, but he was already moving to unlock the door, putting off thoughts of death for a little while longer. He would figure something out later, after he got rid of Luke.

"Yeah, but this is the only one you're in," he cajoled, turning around to face him before he could fall backwards.

"Well, it's all yours. I'll go apologize for making an ass of myself, and maybe I won't be the butt of Gabriel's jokes for the rest of the weekend," he said, trying to remember what he would have said before the world had split into two, but Luke was already shoving him back against the counter, the door locking with a click behind him.

"Luke, what--" he exclaimed as the other man started opening and closing various cabinets and drawers, picking objects up and setting them down, like he was searching for something. He then started examining Sam the way Dean would check him for injuries after a hunt.

"Did you drink anything?" he asked when Sam clenched his jaw closed against Luke tugging at his chin, his voice devoid of his earlier teasing.

"What? Why would you ask me that?" he asked, baffled. He knew Sam was only a social drinker; alcohol had never been a vice for him. He hadn't ordered anything at the sports bar, and from this distance, Luke would be able to smell it on his breath if he had been drinking. Then, when he inexplicably checked his pulse, he remembered how he had looked at the bottles beneath the sink. Sam had been looking at them the same way minutes earlier. Why would he be checking whether his boyfriend was trying to off himself, in his family's house, when he had no previous suicidal tendencies? An awful feeling was building in his gut, and he grasped Luke's hand by the wrist and held it still. _It can't be true_. But he needed to know.

"Luke?" he asked, no longer looking for an explanation, but for confirmation. The blond man stared at him, searching his face for a moment before he pulled his hand out of Sam's grip.

"No," he said. "I'm not Luke."

"Lucifer?" Sam spat, the name mangled by the fierce fear and hatred that welled up like blood from old wounds. And the wounds he had suffered at the hands of this monster were innumerable.

At the name, the man before him changed to suit it. His eyebrows tilted mockingly above eyes as cool as marble. A slight smirk wormed its way onto his lips.

"In the flesh," he said. His eyes darted around the bathroom before settling back on Sam. "Ish."

"How are you here?" he asked, backing up until he was almost sitting in the sink. That one question chased itself frantically in circles around his mind until he realized that whatever the answer was, it wasn't important. None of this was real--why would Lucifer be? But the prospect of being shackled to his tormentor once again, real or not, was the motivation he needed to leave this place. He reached underneath the sink to pull out whatever bottle he could get his hands on first, and hoped his death wasn't too painful.

"You don't want to do that," Lucifer warned, pushing Sam to the side and blocking his access to the cabinets. Sam shoved him in retaliation, seeking an outlet to his anger, and was taken aback when Lucifer stumbled and caught himself against the wall. He had never seen the archangel anything less than completely composed, and he wouldn't have thought that he could catch him off guard if he hadn't done just that. But Lucifer didn't waste time. He took advantage of Sam's hesitation and barreled into him, fencing him into a corner.

"You will die," Lucifer said, stressing each word.

"That's the point." Sam twisted in his grip, trying to break free. Lucifer was strong, but not immovable. The shorter man dug an arm into Sam's chest, leaning all of his weight against it to hold him in place.

"Not just here. You will die. The end. That's all she wrote." Sam started to snarl a comeback.

"Shut up," Lucifer barked, and he was stunned into silence. "Listen. I am keeping you alive, but feeding you grace through the gaps in the Cage isn't ideal. If you leave here, I won't be able to keep your heart pumping while the djinn's poison leaves your system." Sam stared at him, dumbfounded, while Lucifer waited for a response. "Is any of this getting through your thick skull?"

Were the illusions supposed to be self-aware? Either this dream was taking a bizarre turn, or he had to at least entertain the fact that this was actually Lucifer, who was somehow contacting him from inside the Cage. And that wasn't going to happen; he had already been down that road.

"Believe it or not, you're not the first delusion I've had claiming to be Lucifer. You're not even the most convincing," he said, using the wall as leverage to push Lucifer back. He gave way, a hand still balled in Sam's shirt.

Then Sam was listing to the side, his vision swimming as he tried to find purchase on the walls with arms that wouldn't work. His knees hit the tile, and Lucifer's form blurred out of focus, light from an overcast sky filtering through the translucent gaps between reality and perception. His mouth fell open when he couldn't catch a breath, and he tasted cold air, wet dirt, and the metal tang of blood as his heart pumped sluggishly. His pulse was slowing, shivering haltingly in his throat.

Before it stopped altogether, he returned to the bathroom all at once, like a rubber band snapping back into shape. Gulping in great breaths of air, he squinted against the soft bathroom glow, now as piercing as a spotlight through his pounding headache. Lucifer was crouched in front of him, holding him up on his knees by the front of his shirt, and Sam saw that his hands were clinging to his jacket like it was a lifeline. He let go.

"Did that feel like I'm lying?" Lucifer asked in a hushed voice. His back was against the light, but the deeper shadows of his face gave his expression a tense, unhappy cast. Sam felt real fear now, kneeling there at the foot of the archangel whose tender mercies during their shared incarceration had made a good night's sleep the elusive subject of his daydreams. But he preferred the vivid, screaming nightmares to having Lucifer slithering around in his head again, badgering him until he drove him insane, controlling his dreams for his own purpose. Sam looked up in dawning realization.

"You're doing this, aren't you? You're here because you think I can get you out of the Cage," he said, grasping at any explanation that didn't have Lucifer holding sway over whether he lived or died. Making him believe that he was in a djinn's fever dream was more in line with one of Gabriel's schemes, but Sam had personally witnessed the realities that archangels could fabricate. Everything he had seen thus far was well within the possibilities, even if he hadn't figured out the underlying motivation.

"Come on, Sam. You're not this dense," Lucifer sneered. "I'll forgive the insult, since you're apparently not firing on all cylinders, but I've never tricked you. I've never needed to. Wherever I went, you followed me willingly."

"What you did was terrorize humanity until I gave you what you wanted. There's a word for that--it's called coercion," Sam grunted as he climbed to his feet. Lucifer moved to help him up, and he almost fell again trying to avoid him until Lucifer caught him by the shoulder.

"You know it makes me all tingly when you talk like that," Lucifer said with a patronizing pat to his cheek, but he didn't move away immediately. His cool hand stayed resting against Sam's face as the mood between them slipped from combativeness into something softer and more dangerous. Lucifer's eyes flickered over his features, resting on his lips as his thumb brushed at the corner of his mouth, and Sam damned himself when he didn't move away.

Luke had never existed. But when he looked at Lucifer, no matter how hard he tried to suppress it, not all of what he felt was fear and loathing. Like the wall at his back and the hand on his face, the happy, normal life that had been implanted in his mind was more tangible than reality, than the horrors of the almost Apocalypse and the confused flashes of the Cage. Some of his happiest moments were attached to the face in front of him. To the same blond hair that somehow managed to be both short and messy. The same blue eyes that he had woken up to every morning for the past few months. The same lines that creased his brow and folded around his mouth when he smiled.

But many of Sam's worst memories were also a product of the archangel in front of him, and they were all very real. Instead of his feelings for Luke disappearing when he realized that he had been Lucifer for however long they had been here, he felt like Lucifer was parading around in the skin of someone he had been falling in love with, making it impossible for him to move on from his loss. And what was worse was that not once had Sam suspected that he had been sharing a bed, a _shower_ , with Satan.

"How long have you known?" he asked, pulling away. Lucifer dropped his hand. "Did you know that I was oblivious when I was 'soaping you up' this morning? Or did you just assume I'd be willing?" He tried to sound scathing, but he was so horrified by what was coming out of his mouth that the question rose to a hysterical register.

Lucifer's eyebrows raised at the accusation, his mouth set in an uncompromising line, and Sam recognized that look from fights that he and Luke had had in the past, fights that hadn't actually taken place. He wanted to punch that look off his face, to scream at him to stop pretending he was something he wasn't, and while he was deciding which one he would do first, someone rapped a cheerful tune on the bathroom door.

"Come out with your pants up," Gabriel said. "You have the right to remain silent. If I hear any moans or groans, I'm coming in there. And you won't like what I do when I get my hands on you. Or maybe you will. Depends on what you're into, but I know I will."

While Gabriel ranted, they stared at each other, motionless. Whether he wanted to or not, Sam could read the tension in Lucifer's stance ratcheting higher as soon as he heard Gabriel's voice. He was almost spiteful enough to open the door right then and leave the two brothers alone together, the murderer and the ghost of his victim. But he needed more information from Lucifer before he could decide what he would do, and the only plan that was presenting itself to him was to bluff his way through their interactions until they could go somewhere where they wouldn't be interrupted.

"So what's it going to be, Sam? Live to die another day?" Lucifer asked softly, but Sam was sure he already knew what his answer would be. Gabriel started knocking in rhythm to the Jeopardy theme.

"You're going to tell me everything I want to know," Sam said. "If you try to hide anything from me, if you refuse to answer me, then I'll take my chances with the real world."

"And what about them?" Lucifer nodded towards the door.

"They're your family, you figure it out. But as far as we're concerned," Sam paused as he clenched his teeth tighter and his headache throbbed in protest, "we'll act like nothing's changed. That shouldn't be too hard for you. You've done a good job of pretending so far."

Lucifer looked like he was about to take exception, but he was interrupted.

"I'm coming in anyway." And Gabriel was short, but unless he had shrunk, he was kneeling in front of the door, his voice emanating from the level of the doorknob. His statement was followed by clicking noises. "Cover your eyes, Tess. They're definitely kissing," he informed his apparent accomplice in a sober tone of voice, like he was about to uncover a gruesome crime scene.

Sam walked around Lucifer, hugging the wall like he was crossing a narrow ledge, and opened the door. Gabriel looked up, what appeared to be a bobby pin pinched between two fingers. A young girl stood behind him, staring at Sam with big blue eyes.

"Whoa, back up, Sammy, you're giving me vertigo," he quipped as he jumped to his feet, his eyes darting quickly back and forth between Sam and Lucifer. "You two should be ashamed of yourselves. Hanging out in a bathroom to talk. Seriously, what a waste. Anyway, Tess needs to use the lou, so I'm here to tell you two to vacate the premises. There's a bathroom with better acoustics on the third floor if you want to check it out."

"Then why didn't you use it?" Lucifer asked as they moved into the hallway, and Sam very carefully avoided looking at him as he passed.

"This one has the good soap," Gabriel said, his brows drawing together in honest confusion at the question. Then he glanced down at Tess, who nodded in confirmation.

"It's got rabbits on it," she explained solemnly before breezing past them into the bathroom and shutting the door. Gabriel's eyebrows raised jauntily before he started back down the hallway.

Sam met Lucifer's eyes again, feeling like the ground was eroding from beneath him.  _What am I doing_ _?_ he asked himself, dread crawling like insects inside his skin. He looked away and took a careful step. When the ground held, he took another, and another, until he had caught up to Gabriel. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Lucifer walking on Gabriel's other side. Sam felt more than saw him staring. He didn't look back


	5. Chapter 5

"You okay, big boy?" Gabriel addressed Sam with what might have been concern, but it was difficult to tell since most of his facial expressions looked like they were straight out of a skin mag. "I know your meal had a lot of esophagus to go through, but you were in there a while. Though I can see that Luke did an excellent job of holding your hair; I don't see not even one chunk."

"Mind your own business, Gabriel," Lucifer said coldly.

"Not going to happen, bro," Gabriel said cheerily. "I am officially on Luke-sitting duty. Getting all up in your business is my business." He took Lucifer's silence as sulking and continued. "You only have yourself to blame, you know, after you turned our last reunion into a fiasco." This was followed by several pointed glances accompanied by eyebrow acrobatics, but Sam didn't ask, and Lucifer didn't rise to the bait.

The gathering in the living room must have dispersed, because when they entered the kitchen, Anna was leaning down to talk to her youngest, who was bouncing on his toes. Dean and Cas were standing right outside the living room, having a heated discussion. They all three looked up when they entered.

"You okay?" Dean asked, coming towards them with Cas in tow and eyeing Lucifer with thinly veiled hostility that would have bothered Sam earlier. Now he just felt drained.

"Yeah," Sam answered. He raised his hand to rub at his aching head, then dropped it when he realized Dean was watching him, which made the aborted movement even more conspicuous.

"He probably just got seasick in that big boat you drive," Gabriel said. Dean pointed a finger at him in warning.

"Hey, Baby doesn't make people carsick."

"Baby?" he groaned. "Cas, please keep him away from Michael."

"It's too late for that," Cas informed while Dean's eyes lit up with something like worship.

"God, that _'cuda_. He's a collector, Sam. He's got a whole garage he's going to show me," he gushed, a motorphile in a candy-coated car shop. "Do you think he would...Nah, he probably wouldn't. I mean I wouldn't if it were me, but...it wouldn't hurt to ask, right?" He looked at Cas, anxiety written on his face.

"Right," Cas said, putting a comforting hand on Dean's shoulder. And Sam couldn't be sure, but he thought that Cas knew exactly what he was agreeing to.

"Gabe, did you promise Sam that you were going to make him candy?" Anna piped up, and Sam startled until he realized that she probably meant her son, Samandriel.

"Nope," he said, popping the "p" with alacrity. "But I am now. Sammy, let's go make some candy." Anna did a tiny cheer with her excited son, who didn't seem to mind the nickname, and Sam felt his lips twitch.

Anael had tried to kill him before he was even born, but the bitterness he might have felt wasn't there. She and almost everyone else here had died a long time ago, and it wouldn't do him any good to waste his energy hating shadows that no longer had any real control over him. He hadn't known most of them well at all, in either world, and their similarities only extended to their appearances. Not even that far in some cases.

Or maybe he wasn't worried about them because he knew who the real threat was.

"Luke, you in? It's your favorite," Gabriel sing-songed, already bustling around the kitchen, loudly slamming cabinets in his quest to find whatever he was looking for. Lucifer studied Gabriel for a moment, and Sam watched, not sure what to expect but expecting nothing good.

Lucifer glanced his way. Caught in the act, Sam dropped his gaze, a hot spike of anger and apprehension stabbing through him. He carefully kept his hands from balling into fists and turned his attention back to Gabriel's pillaging.

"No. I'll pass," Lucifer said and walked towards a door that led from the kitchen to the yard. Dean watched him go and looked back at Sam, his eyes widening like he had figured something out.

"Then you're going to have to keep yourself out of trouble, because I have more important things to do. Also, you're not getting any," Gabriel called to Lucifer's retreating back before the door closed behind him. He turned to Sam. "Sammy Two, you want some candy?"

"It's Sam," he corrected automatically, then continued awkwardly when Gabriel leveled him with an unimpressed look. "Uh, no. I'm good. Thanks." Gabriel harrumphed at his very generous offer being snubbed. Even knowing this wasn't the real Gabriel, being leered at by his facsimile was jarring. Sam wasn't sure how to act around anyone. The only hallucination he had ever talked to had been Lucifer's, when he had been even less sure than he was now about what was fact and fiction, and that had gone _so_ well.

He looked through the glass door and outside, where Lucifer's form was growing smaller before he turned and walked out of sight. He should follow him. No one else would be out there to disturb them; he could get his answers.

"We should unpack," Sam overheard Cas telling Dean.

"Where's everyone staying?" Sam asked. He wasn't ready to be alone with Lucifer again just yet. He may as well get used to pretending while they settled in.

"We're on the second floor," Dean said, grabbing his and Cas' bags after a short argument about who was going to carry what, and the three of them trooped up the spiral stair.

Dean whistled, impressed, as they walked into the bedroom. It was as big as the living room, furnished with dressers, a sofa, and a bed large enough to land a small helicopter on. Dean dropped the bags on the floor and made a beeline for the bed, promptly pile-driving the mattress before rolling over onto his back and wriggling until he found a comfortable position.

"Dean," Cas said.

"They're clean," he grumbled, kicking off his boots and nudging them over the side of the bed.

"You comfortable over there?" Sam asked and found the teasing came easier than he thought it would. He sat down on the sofa--he didn't know why there was a sofa, but he was using it, so he wasn't about to argue.

"Yeah. I'll give it four stars," Dean sighed contentedly, lacing his fingers over his stomach. Cas sat down at the foot of the bed and started worrying at a hole in one of Dean's socks while Dean tried to ineffectually swat him away with his toes. The scene made Sam equal parts happy and very, very confused. "And I'll add an extra star if there's room service. Is there room service?"

"There is," Cas said and Dean perked up. "In the dining room." That startled a laugh out of Sam, and Dean scowled and flopped over, burying his face in the pillows that were stacked high enough to build a trench.

"How many bedrooms does this place have?" Sam asked, looking around speculatively.

"Four. Michael's is on the ground floor. Anna, Tess and Samandriel are staying in the other bedroom on this floor, and you and Luke have the one in the basement," Cas said, and Sam felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. Instead of a bright and spacious bedroom, the room that came to mind was small and dark and cramped, with metal bars for walls. He ran his thumb across his forehead, wiping away a trickle of sweat that wasn't there, that couldn't have formed in the perfectly air-conditioned room.

"What about Raphael and his kids? I wouldn't want to kick them out of their room," Sam said too urgently to be a casual inquiry.

"It's not Raphael's room," Cas said matter-of-factly. "He lives nearby, so he won't be staying here." He thought about asking if Gabriel needed the room, but that might sound a shade too desperate.

"You can crash on our couch," Dean offered, his face turned towards Sam, but his words still half muffled in the pillows. It looked like any iteration of Dean would always know when Sam was quietly freaking out. Cas looked curiously between the two brothers.

"Did something happen between you and Luke?" Cas asked, a note of worry in his voice. And when Sam realized that concern was for _Lucifer_ , he sank further into the couch, momentarily stunned.

"Yeah, what'd the dick do now?" Dean grumbled, flipping onto his back again, and he nudged Cas with a foot when he glared at him reprovingly.

"Uh, nothing. We just got into an argument. Nothing big. It'll be alright," Sam replied faintly, hitching up a weak smile. Dean's offer was tempting, but he would stick to the plan. And it wouldn't be the first time that he had gone a few nights without sleep.

Dean stared at Sam, relying on his expectant silence to drag out what Sam wasn't saying. Sam stared back, taking the chance to study the other man as a whole for the first time. He was relaxed, and not just because he was lying on a bed that was several thousand dollars more expensive than anything they had ever slept on; this Dean was softer around the edges. He was the same age, but his face had less lines, from both laughter and worry. His hair lacked the beginnings of gray around the temples that Dean griped about endlessly. The look he was giving Sam now was as uncomplicated as the ones he used to shoot him over bottles of beer when Sam had first started dating, but without the hunted look in the corners, the wariness that had always said without saying, _They can't know what we do. They wouldn't understand._

Then Cas kissed Dean, who paused in his assessment to kiss back and smile lovingly, at peace with the world and everything in it, and it made Sam guilty, because it was too easy for him to believe that this Dean wasn't his brother.

"I'm going to go wash up before dinner," Cas rumbled to Dean before saying something else too quietly for Sam to hear clearly. Dean scowled, opening his mouth to reply, but Cas matched his look and then upped the ante until Dean clamped his mouth shut.

"Sam--" Cas said, stopping in front of him on the way to the en suite bathroom. "Be patient with Luke. Being a part of this family isn't easy...but it's especially difficult for him. That you even got him here at all means a lot. No one else has managed to do that in a long time." Sam ducked his head, clearing his throat.

"Okay. Uh, thanks, Cas," he said. The advice was well-meaning, if wildly misguided and more than a little uncomfortable. Cas nodded and the bathroom door closed behind him with a soft click. The quiet lingered for a moment longer.

"So Michael's a collector, huh?" Sam asked, not caring how obvious the segue was, but just wanting to steer the conversation into safer waters. Dean continued to lie there, his hands behind his head and chin tucked against his chest.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, not looking at Sam. He was grateful for that, since he couldn't seem to decide how to react. Dean never asked probing questions after Sam closed the subject, not if the answer wasn't key to saving the world, and definitely not if it concerned his love life. At least he sounded as awkward as he was making Sam feel.

"Uh, yeah," he said. He ran a hand through his hair. "Why?"

"Because I saw you down there. That wasn't regular pissed off. You looked like you wanted to beat the shit out of him. And I've never seen you look at Luke like that; that's usually my thing," Dean joked weakly, clearly out of his depth.

Sam was suddenly hit by the need to talk to Dean, _his_ Dean, so powerfully that he was almost sick with it. He needed someone to help him figure out what the hell he should do, to keep him level-headed. To be with him when he confronted Lucifer. He squeezed his hands together tightly, not trusting them to stay steady.

"You should see us when we actually fight," Sam replied glibly, then inwardly winced as Dean's eyes narrowed dangerously. His relationship with Luke, if it could be called that, had never been physically abusive or even particularly violent, but he could see Dean connecting the dots and arriving at the wrong conclusion.

"It's okay, really. I'll handle it," he continued with a grim smile that felt more at home on his face than any of his carefully schooled expressions. Dean looked mollified, if still on edge. Sam wished he could convince himself as easily.

"Alright. But really, you can sleep up here if you need to. It's no problem," Dean insisted. Sam nodded dutifully.

"And if you need me to help bury a body, we can figure something out," he continued with a smile that was a little too wide as he glanced warily at the bathroom door.

"Just like good old times," Sam said, trying to be flippant and failing. He had burned and buried too many exes for the words to come off as a joke. Dean looked at him strangely, and Sam tried to shrug it off, but the smile wouldn't come. He didn't even know why he'd said it. Maybe it was a last-ditch effort to trigger something, to make Dean remember what he should have known all along but obviously didn't. He huffed a quiet, strained laugh. He was definitely cracking. He stood up, needing to get away before he smothered in self-pity.

"I better go get unpacked. Check out the room," Sam said.

"Alright. But fair warning: if you're not at dinner, Cas will hunt you down. I'll hold him off as long as I can, but I swear that man's part bloodhound," Dean said, peeling off his outer shirt, tossing it on the floor, and settling back again.

"Is it that big of a deal?" he asked, queasy at the thought of being trapped at a table with everyone for the better part of an hour.

"Yep. I've been to a few before. It's like a Norman Rockwell painting. Seriously. It's kind of creepy." Dean scratched absently at his left arm, and Sam saw a bandage almost hidden under the short sleeve of his t-shirt. Sam zeroed in on it.

"What's that?" he demanded.

"What? Oh, uh," Dean stumbled, pulling at his sleeve like he could hide it after the fact.

"Is that a tattoo?" Sam asked incredulously, recognizing it because it wasn't the only one this Dean had. As a teenager, Dean had begged Dad for a tattoo at every opportunity, and had always been given one excuse after another about why he couldn't have one. In this reality, when he had made the same plea, their mom had convinced John to let him get one. Now he was apparently making up for lost time that he didn't even remember losing.

"Uh, yeah," he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Why did you get a tattoo?" he asked, trying to make some sense out of the situation.

"Well," Dean started, drawing out the word as he lined up his explanation. "Every time me and Cas drive by a tattoo parlor, I always ask if he wants to get one. You know, for shits and giggles." Sam knew, because Dean did the same thing to him, and Dean definitely found it funny how much it annoyed the shit out of him. "So we were driving around this morning, and we saw this place--Julio's or Julian's or something--and I asked him...and he said yes." Dean's smile brightened into a grin like he couldn't fight it back any more. Sam took a moment to drink in the look of unconditional happiness on his brother's face, too grateful to Cas for putting it there to feel too jealous.

"So this is what you were doing when you were 'shopping' earlier? You got a couple's tattoo? And you call me a girl," Sam said, trying not to laugh. Dean scowled, but it didn't reach his eyes. Then a thought occurred to him. "Please tell me it's not a leprechaun pissing a rainbow."

"What? No!" Dean sputtered like Sam had grievously insulted him. "That was Rhonda's idea. And, anyway, she didn't want us to get them on our arms." _Oh, that's right._ That's not a mental picture he wanted to remember. Now he regretted bringing it up.

"Then what is it?" Dean looked at him searchingly, like it was a precious secret and not a picture permanently painted on one of the more prominent places of his body.

"Yeah, okay. I'm supposed to take the bandage off anyway," he said, peeling the gauze off slowly. When it was completely revealed, Sam felt like he had been sucker punched.

Curled around Dean's bicep was a hand print, traced in ink.

"We only had time to get the outlines done. We still have to get them filled in," he was saying, pulling the skin around so he could see more of it himself, but Sam was only half-listening, staring hard at the tattoo like it would give him answers. "It was actually his call, but I liked the idea."

"Yeah. It's definitely...unique," Sam said, snapping out of whatever hold the tattoo had on him. "I guess I should say congrats. Though I thought a ring was customary."

"Screw you, man." Dean beaned him with a pillow. Sam caught it before it fell and threw it back.

"Save it for your wedding night."

"It's gonna have to wait. Don't wanna show up the main event." Dean tucked the pillow back under his head. "Now get out if you're gonna keep running your mouth. I need my beauty sleep."

"Okay, I'll wake you up in a year or two." Dean flipped him off with his eyes closed. Sam walked to the door and stood halfway through it. "Night night, princess." He closed it behind him before anything else could be thrown.


	6. Chapter 6

Without the distraction of conversation, his headache came back full force, rattling like gunfire in his skull. He gritted his teeth and slowly made his way downstairs, remembering that he had some Excedrin in his bag. He toddled unsteadily into the kitchen, blinking and squinting like he was crashing from an all-night bender. The lights made him wince, and he walked as much of the route to his bag as he could by memory while trying to keep his eyes shielded.

"The Samsquatch emerges from his cave in search of food," Gabriel intoned in a surprisingly competent impression of a documentary narrator. "He creeps quietly, hoping to avoid notice."

He ignored Gabriel as he rifled through his bag. After he dug out the medicine bottle, he stared at it for a moment. What good would it really do? It's not like it was actually going into his system. He hoped that the placebo effect would be good enough and took out the cotton, knocking back a few tablets and swallowing them dry. The discomfort of that was real enough, though, so he went in search for a glass of water.

Gabriel still had most of the kitchen tied up, and Samandriel was sitting on the counter next to the sink, spooning white confection onto wax paper and getting a majority of it on himself in the process. He was kicking his heels against the cabinets in a way that was extremely irritating, but Sam suppressed the rising urge to nag.

"Where are the glasses?" he asked instead, and Gabriel uncharacteristically pointed at a cabinet behind Sam's head without glance or comment, too busy keeping tabs on a thermometer in one of the pots. He got a glass, filled it up, and took a few gulps, then leaned back against the island, pressing the cup briefly to his forehead.

"Is Luke still outside?" Sam asked.

"Probably. You going to go make up and make out?" Sam sighed.

"Do you know where he's at or not?" Sam asked, not in the mood to play along.

"The sass on this one," Gabriel commiserated with no one before addressing Sam. "He's most likely finding himself in the woods. Out that-a-ways." He pointed the utensil he was stirring with haphazardly, dripping syrup onto the counter. Gabriel turned a critical eye on Samandriel, who now had the spoon he had been dolloping out sweets with in his mouth. "And the first batch is done. Take some. Luke's less of a jackass when he's hopped up on sugar. You'll be doing us all a favor." Sam looked pointedly between Gabriel and Samandriel, but Gabriel didn't even glance his way while he poured the syrup into the mixer on top of something white and fluffy.

"Hey, but I want some," Samandriel whined, slurping around his spoon.

"You've had enough," Gabriel said, eyeing the boy's sugar-encrusted hands. "And get that spoon out of your mouth. I'm not paying you to slobber all over the utensils."

"I don't want to," Samandriel wailed, and Sam decided to book it before the waterworks started. He set his glass on the counter and grabbed a paper towel to wrap up some of the lumpy white mounds to appease Gabriel before heading towards the door.

"Nah-ah! Samandriel, you better put that down." There was a sound of disgust followed by a high-pitched giggle. "Oh, that's it. You're fired. You're dead to me." A pause. "Oh well. More for me." The screeching protest that followed was cut off by the door closing behind him. Sam headed into the woods following Gabriel's vague directions.

The lawn was just as tame and sculpted up close as it looked from far away, but as he approached the line of trees, the grass grew taller, and he started to see evidence of autumn, damp leaves littering the ground and clinging to his boots. Nothing out here cared that he was there, and that was oddly reassuring. The tension in his chest unwound itself the further he went, and he breathed in, filling his lungs with cool air as the sun beat down warmly on his back.

He stopped at the first tree to peer in. It was still light in the woods beneath the thinning canopy, but he couldn't see any movement through the staggered ranks of trees. There was no telling how far back it went, and he had no idea how big the property was. _A good place to hide from hunters_ , he thought uneasily, remembering stacked gears and a hand around his neck. He considered calling out, but he didn't want to acknowledge his paranoia. He would find Lucifer eventually, and until then, he preferred the silence.

He walked, and the air cooled further. The shade wasn't deep, but it dampened the light enough to bring Sam some relief. The Excedrin hadn't worked, and the pain was intensifying to the point that he was thinking back longingly on the concussion he had sustained when he had wiped out chasing a wendigo across a frozen Snug Harbor.

Colors pulsed weirdly as he kept his eyes on his feet and his mind on his immediate path; vibrant and soft one moment, stark and washed-out the next. He slogged forward, intermittently pressing at the corners of his eyes, like if he was persistent enough the pain would give up and go away.

Something screamed further down the path. He looked up sharply, which he immediately regretted, and for the single step that he wasn't paying attention, his foot snagged against the ground and he stumbled. He caught himself awkwardly against a tree, and when he locked his arm around the trunk to keep himself upright, he felt a stabbing pain in the crook of his elbow. He searched for what had made the noise, and he saw a flash of light glancing off of metal. When he saw the flash again, he realized it wasn't a reflection.

It was a pen light, flicking in and out of his line of vision. Each time it blinked off, he could see green eyes. Freckles. Lips moving purposefully. But he couldn't hear the words, couldn't put anything together. Rushing filled his ears; blood or sound or distance, he didn't know. He tried to speak, to say that he was there, but his body was as much a part of him as the earth beneath him, so much unfeeling dead weight.

The roar gave way to the crunching of something hungry. Advancing boots eating up distance. A fist breaking against a face, over and over. And Sam was screaming, he knew he was, but he had no control, his mouth wouldn't move and he couldn't hear and he couldn't stop.

_The last one dropped to the ground. He hadn't killed them, but five pairs of dead, glassy eyes stared him down. He hadn't killed them, but that was his hand that had snapped, and that was his voice, taunting and malicious._

_"So...Are we having fun yet?"_

"Sam," called in the same voice, even if it wasn't his voice. But someone was shaking him, and he slumped in relief, because he could feel himself being shaken and could hear his name being called.

Fingers pressed against his face, so cold that he realized he was sweating. He yanked his head back, jolted by the sensation, and flinched in anticipation of pain. It didn't come. He peeled his eyelids open slowly, already knowing who he would find.

"Are you with me?" Lucifer asked, eyes searching his face. Sam found himself still leaning against the tree and pushed off of it.

"Yeah," Sam said just to find out if he could, but his voice sounded normal, unaffected, when it should have been stripped raw by all the screaming he had done.

"How many times has this happened?" Sam's brow furrowed as he focused on the words.

"Are you doing this to me?" he demanded. Lucifer sighed in disgust and turned to walk away. Sam followed him closely. "I know that you did...whatever the fuck you just did earlier to make a point. So what was the point this time?" The blond whirled to face him.

"I'm not doing _anything_ ," Lucifer hissed, and Sam stopped in his tracks, barely managing not to flinch. Lucifer may as well have been coiled like a rattlesnake, he was so tense. So this was the Devil he was getting--not the conqueror or the loony. The caged animal.

"Why are you out here if you've already come up with your own answers?" he continued, the anger receding, but Sam could still see it being stoked beneath the surface. Sam looked away, and his gaze was drawn to the crumpled paper towel on the ground, trailing white crumbs in the dirt. He picked it up. The sweets were a bit worse for wear but mostly intact.

"Here," Sam said as defiantly as he could and shoved the bundle into Lucifer's hand.

He looked a bit wrong-footed as he raised his eyebrows at Sam before pulling back a corner of the paper. Then he bit into one of the sugary lumps and nodded like he accepted Sam's peace offering, when it had been no such thing, before turning and walking away.

Sam looked consideringly back the way he had come before following Lucifer deeper into the woods.

The journey was quiet, but of a different sort than when Sam had been alone. It was far from restful and relaxing, though he thankfully no longer had a headache. He kept a close watch on the man in front of him. Sam noticed that Lucifer wasn't wearing his jacket. He had what looked like goggles hanging around his neck and there were drying sweat stains on his shirt between his shoulder blades and in the dip of his back. His eyes travelled lower until he made himself look away.

Soon enough, Sam could see a small shed through the gaps in the trees. It was more rundown than he would have expected after seeing the house and the surrounding land. The paint was discolored and the walls were choked with weeds, which might explain how he hadn't noticed it until they were right on top of it.

Lucifer maneuvered around the table saw that was set up outside, setting the sweets on top next to a pair of earmuffs, and ducked into the shed. Bewildered, Sam stood just shy of the saw, looking between it and the doorway that was angled so that he couldn't see inside. Before he could step forward to get a better vantage, Lucifer appeared shouldering a long piece of wooden board, goggles in place around his eyes.

"Can you hold these?" he asked, tossing the paper towel and its contents at Sam, who caught them, before putting the earmuffs around his neck and laying the wood down on the table.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked, doubting the answer would really clarify anything.

"I'm building a tree house," Lucifer said, and Sam had been right.

"Why?" he asked helplessly.

"Because Michael said he would finish it, and he didn't." He fit the wood into place. Sam couldn't fathom why Lucifer would be doing carpentry in the woods by himself, so he moved on to more pressing matters.

"Why are you here?"

"In the woods?"

"No, not in the fucking woods, Lucifer," Sam snapped.

"Hold that thought," Lucifer said, and snapped the earmuffs around his ears before switching on the saw. Sam gritted his teeth at the high-pitched squeal of metal shearing through wood--the same sound he had mistaken for a scream earlier. A few seconds later, Lucifer turned it off and stood back, inspecting the cut closely.

"I'm not going to help you escape the Cage," he said loudly. Lucifer looked at him uncomprehendingly and tapped on his earmuffs. He turned back to the saw, moving the other end of the board under the blade and turning it on.

Sam stalked towards Lucifer, who noticed him coming at the last second and hit the kill switch on the saw before turning towards him. Sam yanked the earmuffs off of his head.

"I get it, okay?" he said roughly. "Stop ignoring me."

Lucifer fixed him with a cold stare. Sam took stock of the saw, the board, and then Lucifer's mood, an old habit that apparently hadn't died.

"Hey, you interrupted me," Lucifer said, picking up the wood and shaking it with emphasis. He disappeared back inside the shed. Sam followed warily, hanging back at the door while he checked out the inside.

The interior was as different from the shed's exterior as the shed was from the house. Tools were organized meticulously, ordered and sorted by form and function on pegboards and hooks, making the space feel larger than it was. He made sure to stand clear of them anyway. Counters were as clean as he had ever seen in a workshop; they were not just uncluttered but looked like they had been wiped down. The floors also looked like they had been swept. It was tidy to the point of being homey.

Lucifer set the board in his hand against a stack of other boards leaning against the wall, most of which were still uncut.

"Doesn't look like I interrupted much," Sam said, giving the stack an unimpressed look.

"Well I, for one, can't work in a dump. I had to clean up the place first," he said, taking off his goggles and hanging them on their own little peg before leaning back against the counter. He pointed at a peg next to the goggles. "Those go here."

Sam realized he was still holding the earmuffs and tossed them to Lucifer, who deftly caught them and put them up. He pulled up the hem of his shirt to wipe off his face, and Sam's stomach flipped at the sight of all that bare skin, like puberty had returned with a vengeance.

"I didn't pin you for a neat freak," Sam forced out, fixing his eyes above his neckline like he hadn't noticed anything.

Lucifer hummed in response, crossing his arms as he lowered his brow and looked to the side, a complicated expression that Sam couldn't decipher until he remembered the dishes carefully lined up in the town-home kitchen cabinets, the clothes sorted by theme and color in the closet. Luke had been very organized, to the point that it had rubbed off on Sam when it hadn't driven him up the walls.

There was that pain again, like fire licking at his ribs. But it was nothing compared to the fury that followed at being stuck here, with Lucifer. At himself, for hurting, for being taken in by a lie, again, for continuing to fall for the same trick even after he knew how it worked. He set the bundle in his hand down on the nearest surface so he wouldn't drop it, or throw it at Lucifer.

"I don't know," Lucifer admitted, and the words swam around in Sam's mind unheeded for a few laps before he looked up. "I don't know why I'm here."

Sam stared at Lucifer. _He can't be telling the truth_ , was his first thought. Lucifer, not knowing everything, not in control of every detail and minutia was unthinkable. He had seen him get shot in the head point-blank by the Colt and play dead before popping back up like a demented jack-in-the-box, all to put on a show, to drive home how hopeless Sam's situation had been. But Sam had shoved Lucifer, and he had felt him try to brace himself and stumble. There was only one lesson that he had taken away from that.

"You're human, aren't you?" Sam asked, but he knew he was right.

Lucifer pushed off of the workbench and walked towards him, something restless pacing behind his eyes. Sam glanced around, cataloging the tools, the arsenal, while he put his back to the wall, incrementally moving his arm so he could grasp the handle of the axe behind him.

"You want to use that axe and find out?" Lucifer murmured, inches from Sam's face. Then he reached around him and popped a candy into his mouth before walking past him out the door.

Sam dropped his head back against the door frame, frustrated at himself for reacting so obviously. He eventually pried his fingers off of the axe handle and looked outside as Lucifer started readjusting the table saw's stand.

"Do you know what's happening to me?" Sam asked to change the subject when Lucifer rolled the saw inside.

"Not for sure."

"Then how about you hazard a guess?" he asked, incensed; his life might be riding on the answer. He glanced back at Sam sharply before he turned his attention back to putting the saw in its place and propping the stand in a corner. He leaned back against the workbench in the same position as before.

"The djinn that poisoned you was trying to kill you," he said, scratching at his temple with a thumbnail. "And the amount of poison it pumped into you would have if I hadn't intervened."

"Is that why none of this 'fantasy' makes sense? The whole Partridge family routine, the memory loss--" _Us?_  he couldn't quite bring himself to ask. "Is that all because it wasn't trying to feed off me, it was trying to kill me?"

"Maybe. But that could have also been the brain damage," Lucifer said breezily, then rolled his eyes at Sam's alarmed expression. "Relax. Obviously I fixed it, or we wouldn't be having this conversation. You're using just as little of your brain as always." Sam decided to ignore that.

"And how exactly did you know I'd been attacked?" Sam asked, his throat tight.

"I've been keeping tabs on you," Lucifer said, and Sam's blood froze over. "Just to check up now and then. See how you're doing, make sure you're eating your veggies, that sort of thing. Nothing weird." Sam stood there, dumbfounded, his lips parted to ask the "how" that wouldn't come. Lucifer understood, the way he always did.

"Okay, so, imagine my surprise when, falling into the depths of Hell, I see Castiel swooping in to save the day--that was Castiel, right?" Sam nodded numbly, and Lucifer made a self-satisfied noise. "See, I thought so. But I wasn't sure, because, well, I killed him." Lucifer shrugged, shaking his head in bemusement. "Anyway. The little angel that could, couldn't...quite...get a grip," he flexed a hand in demonstration, "and souls are very slippery. But I managed to hold on, as you know." Sam shot him a look of pure loathing that he met with a blithe smile before exhaling dramatically.

"So I had a hunch that someone, Dean most likely, would make an attempt to get the rest of you out, but getting Death involved...That took some cojones," he admitted grudgingly, chewing fitfully at a fingernail, his eyes on the floor as he recounted his memories. Then they swiveled back up to meet Sam's gaze, and he felt glued in place like a fly in a trap. "But I wasn't going to let you out. Not unless I came along for the ride. And I did, partially. Not even 'til Death did we part, though he definitely tried. I got the feeling that he's not my biggest fan."

Sam felt ill, polluted like he hadn't felt since he had taken the first mouthful of demon blood in that last preparation to house the son-of-a-bitch in front of him, violated like he hadn't felt since Gadreel. And it had been years. He had never suspected, not even when Cas had explained that angels left residual grace behind in the vessels they possessed. Or maybe he had known then, but had hoped that Cas had taken that burden from him when he undid the damage that the Cage, that Lucifer, had wreaked on his sanity.

"You think you own me, don't you?" Sam asked, his voice wavering. Lucifer had taken him apart and put him back together enough times that Sam had often felt like his thing, his project, and the trip down memory lane had made him relive that helplessness. Lucifer paused consideringly before raising a hand palm-up in an understated shrug.

"You did say yes."

"And I won."

Years, centuries, millenia of experience allowed him to read the minute tensing of muscles, the stiffening of Lucifer's posture that meant that his words had struck a nerve, though he hadn't moved a hair. It was even easier to see now, all of the quietly coiled rage of an archangel without the power to lock it away completely. Sam felt a thrill run through him, and it was instinctual fear, but even more than that, it was triumph racing through his veins, making his limbs loose and shaky, warming his chest like liquor. He was on a high, and he wanted more.

"I beat you at your own game," Sam continued, savoring the words like the first taste of freedom from the Cage, like he imagined it would have been like if that moment hadn't also been stolen from him. He took a step closer, and another step, until he was looking down at him.

"And I'm not going to let you out again," he promised. He watched as Lucifer visibly pulled himself together, every part of him easing slowly, piece by piece. He tilted his head to the side without taking his eyes off Sam, the blue of them intense but nowhere near supernatural.

"Well, I'm going to go get changed," Lucifer said, clapping him on the shoulder, and he may as well have punched him. Sam pulled away, then stood there, staring at him, stunned. "See you at dinner." And he walked out, throwing the remaining sweets in a small trashcan on the way.

Sam watched him go, completely at a loss. He hadn't thought that this reality could get any stranger, but it had done one better and had gone from impossible to unimaginable. He had been ready for violence, both verbal and physical, torture and pain. Hell, he wouldn't have been too surprised if Lucifer had dropped the charade and revealed that he had died and was back in the pit; that would have even made sense. He hadn't expected this. Lucifer could play the long con if he had to, but Sam was apparently as much at his mercy here as he was in the Cage, so why he was choosing to keep up the pretense was beyond him.

Sam went out the door, closing it behind him by force of habit.

"So that's it?" Sam called, easily catching up with Lucifer's leisurely stroll. He may have been pushing his luck, but he wasn't going to let this lie. "You're just going to walk away?"

"Looks like it."

"Why?"

Lucifer stopped and turned so suddenly that Sam almost ran into him.

"You know, I never truly appreciated how irritating you are. What do you want to hear, Sam? Tell me, so we can get this conversation over with."

"I want to hear the truth. What are you playing at?"

"What am I playing at?" Lucifer repeated as his eyebrows rose. "You want me to be angry because you said no to a question I didn't ask?"

"Then, what? You're just going to wait it out until I help you, whether I want to or not? Is that part of your 'script?'" Sam asked.

"There hasn't been a script for a while now," he said, a muscle in his jaw twitching. Sam grunted, a succinct summary of his profound disbelief at Lucifer's forthrightness. He stared up at the branches crisscrossing above him. A little bird, maybe a wren, was hopping back and forth, tilting its head and keeping an eye on them.

"I'm supposed to believe that you're just going to sit pretty in Hell after everything you did to get out? That you're keeping me alive out of the goodness of your heart?"

"I'm not shy about asking for what I want," Lucifer asserted softly, and Sam was suddenly very aware of how close they were. Those words in that voice hit him low in a way that wasn't unpleasant; it was a reaction that was trained into him as much as the fear was. "If I wanted something from you, you would know it."

"Oh, I know firsthand what you would do to get what you want," Sam replied, letting the bitterness sink that soft, unwelcome feeling down like a corpse in cement shoes.

"Then what's the question here?" Lucifer asked flatly, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. Sam raked his hands through his hair and kept them knotted there while the temptation to throttle Lucifer passed.

"Nothing. Just--" he bit off, then blew out the air he was going to waste on words and shook his head, his jaw working as he walked around Lucifer before immediately stopping and turning back.

"Here's one: how long have you been in my head?" he asked. The memory of the intimacy they had shared while he was unaware made him feel ill, and that was only worsened by the times since that he had found his gaze lingering on Lucifer, recalling vividly what he looked like underneath his clothes.

"That's a tricky question," Lucifer said, turning around to face him. "Are we talking Hell time, Earth time, or how much time has passed in this place?" he asked, gesturing around with one hand. "We're covering a lot of time zones here."

Sam hadn't put a lot of thought into how long he had been out of commission. Dean was probably going out of his mind by now. He wanted to get back to his brother, but whatever had happened to him in the bathroom and then again on the path into the woods had led him to believe that he wasn't in the best shape.

"How long has it been on Earth since I got here?" Sam asked in trepidation.

"Well," Lucifer said, drawing out the word and then humming thoughtfully as he looked up like he was crunching numbers, building up dramatic tension. Sam revisited the idea of strangling him. "It's been a few hours, give or take." Sam felt himself relax a little.

"And how long have you been here?"

"As long as you have, as far as I can tell. Hours on Earth, a day or so here." _A month in Hell_ , Sam's mind supplied automatically as he fixed the conversion into his mind.

"What do you mean, as far as you can tell?" Sam demanded. Lucifer glanced away. He stared off into the woods for long enough that Sam started to repeat the question.

"I wasn't aware that I was in your head until we arrived here and you ran off. I assume that's when you came to the same conclusion," he said finally, his tone buzzing with annoyance.

"The djinn poisoned me. Why would it affect you?"

"It didn't. But it's muddying up the waters, stirring up interference between myself and the part of my grace that's still inside you--meaning my presence here isn't as strong as it should be." His voice held an edge, and he looked at Sam like he was to blame for this predicament, which was completely unwarranted.

"Good," Sam said, and Lucifer's eyebrows shot up.

"It won't be if the connection breaks down. I'll be gone and you'll be dead," Lucifer demurred, and Sam bristled at the blunt words.

"Look, you're welcome to leave anytime you want. I'm not stopping you," Sam said, holding out his hands magnanimously as he took a few steps backwards before turning around and continuing towards the house. For several yards he outpaced the regret he felt at saying those hasty words, but when it caught up to him he stopped himself from looking back to see if Lucifer had taken him up on his offer.

Somewhere along the way, he had accepted that Lucifer was telling the truth, and he wasn't eager to get back to reality just so that he could die. Here, he was useful to Lucifer; he could trust in Lucifer's self-interest to keep him alive as long as he believed Sam could be persuaded to agree to aid in his escape. Drawing from past experience, that could be indefinitely. And if that eventually changed, then the longer he stayed here and healed, the better chance he had of getting out of this alive when the walls came crashing down.

After a few more moments, Sam heard the footsteps that he hadn't realized he'd been listening for. He didn't look too closely at the relief that followed as they made their way beneath the lengthening shadows of the trees back out into the yard.


	7. Chapter 7

Dinner was much like Dean had described: normal to the extreme. After saying grace, led by Raphael, everyone talked about the food, about their jobs and lives and the wedding that was a little over a day away. Naomi graciously accepted Sam's congratulations and apologies for rushing out of the room earlier while Michael waved him off good-naturedly and went back to talking with the table, cracking the occasional bad joke. As soon as Sam got over his shock that Michael had a sense of humor, he was rolling his eyes along with everyone else.

Anna eventually found out that Samandriel had been spooning food onto the floor when she stepped in it, and she had to explain to him that Michael didn't have a dog and that throwing food on the floor wasn't polite. Zachariah, Raphael's youngest--and learning that little fact had given Sam a mild heart attack--chewed up his food and then showed it to people when his dad wasn't looking. On his left, Sam heard Gabriel ask Tess how each person at the table was going to die, which concerned Sam at first until he heard that Gabriel was apparently going to be eaten by ferrets, to which he responded, "I knew it. Vindictive little bastards. I only bought the one mink coat, they need to get over it already."

To his right, Lucifer was holding a subdued conversation with Anna when he wasn't replying to Uriel's attempts to get his attention from across the table. He had come down to dinner wearing the white Henley shirt that Sam had once told him made it difficult to take his eyes off him. Sam didn't know why he had chosen to wear it, so he tried not to think about it and kept his eyes elsewhere. Which meant he mostly watched Dean as he talked to Cas and gave him and Lucifer significant looks, a silent question in his eyes that Sam was also not in the mood to answer.

When dinner wound down, the kids started clamoring to watch a movie. Apparently, the place had a theater in the basement. After Raphael agreed to let Zachariah and Uriel watch one before they hit the road since they didn't have far to go, Gabriel scooped Samandriel up onto his shoulders and corralled the children down the stairs. Zachariah started poking and pinching Samandriel, who wailed at him to stop.

"Hey, Zach, we're not watching Frozen again, okay? Four times a day is enough," came Gabriel's voice floating up the stairs.

"I didn't watch that!" Zach screamed, followed by giggles and unintelligible shouting, and Sam couldn't hold back a smirk, though he shouldn't enjoy Gabriel poking fun at a kid as much as he did, even if it was Zachariah.

The rest of the group relocated to the living room. Sam thought about opting out and heading to bed early, but he was reluctant to be the odd man out, and he also wasn't too keen on being alone, waiting in the room that he would be sharing with Lucifer for the night. He quickly claimed the last spot on one couch next to Dean and Cas while everyone else settled in. He got a few curious looks when Lucifer sat as far away from him as the seating arrangement allowed, but Sam carefully avoided them.

"Man, I'm full," Dean complained as he patted his stomach, which was high praise coming from him, because it took a tremendous amount of food to fill him up. "That was awesome. Compliments to the chef."

"You'll have to tell him when he gets out of the movie," Michael said, leaning back contentedly in his chair. Dean grunted.

"Well, it wasn't bad. A little heavy on the tomato paste," Dean revised, decidedly less happy about the meal, and Sam just looked at the ceiling and shook his head.

"I don't know, man. That might have been the best chili I've ever had," he said to needle him. Dean gave him a look that was barely an echo of the dangerous expressions that were his brother's trademark, but it was the closest he had gotten yet.

"Hey, chili's not that difficult. It's mostly prep work; even a baker could do it," he grunted dismissively.

"I wouldn't call him that. He switched my sugar with salt, and I didn't find out until I poured it in my coffee the next morning. And I still don't know how he did the packets," Anna said. No one was surprised, though Dean looked around warily.  
  
"Eh, don't get me wrong, I would skinny dip in an ice fishing hole for a slice of Gabriel's cherry pie, but cakes, pies, cookies...You've baked one, you've baked them all." He leaned forward, warming up to the subject. "Now, cooking takes more skill than you'd think; you have to juggle several things at once, but you also have to know what goes with what, so you've got to experiment. People call it an art, but really it's a mix of art and science, if you think about it--"

"You can spare us the details," Lucifer said dryly, cutting through the conversation like a shark fin through water. It was eerie, watching every Novak in the room except for Cas tense up and fall silent at the sound of his voice like he was a wild animal that they had thought had been sleeping. Dean was obviously annoyed at the interruption, but by now he almost expected it after being around Luke as often as he had. Lucifer was playing his part.

"Hey, you shut up," Dean barked back, a sentiment that Lucifer returned with a lazy smirk, then he ignored him and turned to Michael. "Anyway, we are still going to see your cars tomorrow, right?" Michael looked away from Lucifer, his eyes lighting up with a fervor.

"Yeah, of course. We can go out there tomorrow morning--" Michael started.

"Michael, you have to pick up my dress tomorrow," Naomi interjected.

"Ah, that's right," he exclaimed, looking abashed. "And we still have to check in with the vendors."

"Don't worry about that; I will do that while you pick up the dress. Then you can stay here and show Dean your collection. You would just slow me down, anyway," she said with a teasing lilt to her voice.

"Someone has to," he said, catching her hand off of the arm of her chair and bringing their entwined fingers to his lips in a brief kiss.

"I didn't realize that you were still making preparations," Cas spoke up. "Do you need us to help with anything?" Dean looked a little panicky at the idea of being roped into helping.

"No, thank you, Cas," Naomi said, and Sam was a bit disconcerted by the warmth in her voice. "There are only a few last minute things to take care of. They won't take me long."

"I must have done something right to marry an event planner," Michael said.

"Oh, is that why you're marrying me?" she asked, amused.

"It's definitely a bonus." He ran his thumb back and forth over the back of her hand where it was linked with his, hanging between their chairs where the soft lamplight glinted off their engagement rings, before they broke apart. "We'll make it out there sometime tomorrow." Dean nodded, sinking back into the couch and surrendering to his partial food coma. "So, Sam, Cas tells me you're a lawyer?" Put on the spot, Sam scrabbled a moment inside his brain, searching for something to say. He cleared his throat to buy time.

"Uh, yeah, I am," he said eloquently, and he elbowed Dean when he gave a huff of laughter.

"Stanford?"  
  
"Yeah." Michael gave a short, impressed whistle.

"How'd you manage to trick him into dating you, Luke?" he asked, but the words were too stilted; instead of coming out as brotherly ribbing, they sounded like an accusation. But Lucifer's face didn't move from the perfect mask he had been wearing since dinner.

"Oh, you know. I gave him the standard contract: wealth, power, anything his heart desired," Lucifer purred, and the corners of Michael's mouth rose sharply in a caricature of a smile. Worry began burrowing its way through Sam's stomach.

"And what are you doing these days? Still hopping from job to job?" Michael asked, and all the geniality from earlier was gone, replaced with the stiff haughtiness that Sam was more familiar with.

"He's a librarian, if you can believe it," Dean scoffed when it looked like Lucifer wasn't going to answer. He didn't have anything against librarians, but he had always told Sam that no one, not the public and especially not Sam, should have to deal with Luke. But he hadn't picked up on the building tension in the room; Anna and Raphael had even halted their quiet conversation to watch Lucifer and Michael warily. Dean started to say something else, but Cas gave him a nudge to shut him up, which was convenient because Sam's method would have been a lot less gentle.

"Doesn't sound like it pays much," Michael mused, leaning forward in his chair.

"Michael, don't be rude," Naomi admonished, looking at him with wide eyes.

"We do alright." And Sam was surprised to hear those words spoken coolly in his own voice. Michael turned to him, studying him blankly for a moment before his expression softened apologetically. Sam glanced towards Lucifer to find him staring at him, puzzled.

"I know your finances aren't any of my business," Michael said to Sam, clasping his hands between his knees. "But he can do better than working at a library." Sam was stunned at how patronizing that statement was, and Michael hadn't even seemed to realize it.

"You mean I should be working for you, because that's what Father wanted me to do," Lucifer said, his eyes fixed on Michael with an intent look that Sam had been on the receiving end of countless times.

" _With_ me," Michael insisted. "And, no. You ruined that chance a long time ago. But, really, wasting away in some dead-end job...That's what you want to do with your life?"

"Well, I'm sure Father would disapprove, so...Yes." Michael shook his head pityingly.

"You're still such a child," he murmured. Sam looked at Lucifer in time to see Anna put a restraining hand on his arm. He leaned away from her casually, covering her hand with his before pushing it away gently. Dean was sitting forward on the couch, giving Sam a trapped look. Cas apparently hadn't made him aware of the extent of the bad blood between the brothers. Sam wasn't sure what bone Michael had to pick with Luke, but he knew enough about Lucifer's feud with his brother, had spent enough time in the front row seats to that fight, that he was already thinking about how he could evacuate the room before anything happened.

"Compared to you?" Lucifer asked placidly, leaning his cheek against his hand that was propped on the couch arm rest. "Living the life," he flicked the same hand in an indicative gesture before resettling, "that Dad planned out for you? You know, children don't make their own decisions, either."

"Maybe so. But you're still naive."

"Is that so?"

"You think that I don't do anything unless Father tells me to, but everything you do is based on some adolescent fantasy that rebelling against him means that he doesn't control you anymore. But he controls you now as much as he ever did, Luke," Michael said, his hands balled tightly together into a single fist. Lucifer's expression changed just enough--the line of his mouth stretching into a sneer, the creases around his eyes deepening--that Sam knew it was time to act.

"It's getting late," Sam stated, rising to his feet and breaking apart the tense atmosphere like ice on water. Michael, content to have gotten the last word, returned to his hosting duties at Sam's prompting and also stood, followed by everyone else.

"Well, that probably wasn't what everyone had in mind for after-dinner conversation," Michael said deprecatingly, looking around without meeting Lucifer's gaze. "But I am grateful that we could all get together tonight--"

"You invited me here because you wanted an audience, right, Michael?" Lucifer interrupted, spreading his arms. "So go ahead and say what you want to say to me." Michael looked at him, turning just his head, and stared at him quietly for a moment.

"I wouldn't have invited you, if it were up to me. But Gabriel insisted." He didn't elaborate, but everyone was familiar with Gabriel's persistence. "I didn't want you here. Why he's forgiven you, I don't know, but I haven't. I won't."

For a moment, Lucifer looked lost, like he had asked a question he shouldn't have and gotten an answer he didn't want to know. But there were only a few lamps lighting the space, and Sam was across the room from him, so he couldn't be sure. When he looked again, Lucifer was giving Michael an expectant tight-lipped smile.

"Still holding a grudge--who did you get that from, I wonder?" Lucifer said, sticking his hands in his pockets and looking around. "Maybe the same person who gave you this house, your job..." He gave Michael a sly look. "Your wife? Did he tell you who you had to marry, too?" He glanced briefly at Naomi.

Michael was in front of Lucifer in two strides. Lucifer didn't even bother pulling his hands out of his pockets before Michael's fist was smashing into his mouth, rocking him back against the couch as various exclamations burst out around the room. Sam stepped forward, his heart in his throat, before he fought off the ridiculous urge to protect Lucifer. Lucifer didn't need his protection; he could clean up his own mess.

Lucifer righted himself, rubbing a hand across his jaw and smearing blood that had started flowing from his split lip. He prodded at the cut with the tip of his tongue and then spit a stream of bloody saliva onto the polished wood floor.

Raphael and Cas had crept closer to their brothers, ready to intervene, while Dean stood close behind for backup. Michael didn't look exactly penitent, but he was holding his fisted hands resolutely at his sides, signalling that the fight had gone far enough.

"Let's just get the next few days over with," Michael said decisively, eyes hard with anger.

Lucifer watched Michael consideringly, sizing him up while the thin stream of blood from his lip reached his chin and dripped onto his shirt. He nodded almost imperceptibly and Michael relaxed.

Lucifer's expression didn't change when his fist connected with Michael's jaw, or when he took advantage of Michael's surprise and continued pummeling him.

When Michael came around, he launched himself at Lucifer, and they knocked into one of the side tables, which screeched back across the wood, spilling the lamp onto the floor, where the bulb broke and extinguished with a pop.

With one lamp down, the lighting dimmed enough that the action became confused. Dean and Cas were pulling at Michael while Anna may have grabbed Lucifer by the back of the shirt for leverage, but then the brothers fell to the ground, still throwing punches and gouging at each other, trying to do serious damage.

At one point, Lucifer rolled them both over until he was sitting on top of Michael, using his vantage to punch straight down, and Sam registered then that the screaming he had been hearing was Naomi begging them to stop. Raphael swooped in and grabbed Lucifer by the shoulders, but he just bucked him off and kept going while Michael struggled to cover his head and tried to strike back, his face contorted into a bloody snarl that looked like a grin.

Snapping out of his stupor, Sam strode forward and hooked his arms around Lucifer from behind, dragging him off of Michael before he could get free. He almost lost his grip a few times, but he tangled his fists tighter in Lucifer's shirt and held on. Eventually, the other man stopped struggling and went lax, his head falling back against his chest, breathing heavily.

Naomi knelt beside Michael where he sat on the floor being checked over by Cas, who Sam vaguely recalled was a paramedic. He told Anna to get the first aid kit, and she promptly left to find it.

Michael's face was already swelling, blood streaming steadily from his nose, which Cas assured him wasn't broken, and more red staining his hair where his head had connected solidly with the leg of the side table. He looked furious. He glowered at Lucifer as he was slowly helped to his feet.

Sam then made the uncomfortable realization that he was still holding Lucifer, and he quickly released him while he stood from his crouch, not offering to help him up. Apparently, he didn't need it, because soon enough he was on his feet.

From his profile, Sam could tell that he had gotten as good as he'd given. The skin around the eye that Sam could see was discolored, and would be black before long. His split lip was bleeding anew, and his neck was red where Michael had gotten his hands around it and would probably bruise.

And the look on his face was as disconnected as it had been during the fight. Sam felt a cold sweat break out at that look, because it meant that the violence wasn't over.

He grabbed Lucifer by the arm, and was startled to feel him shaking.

"Luci--Luke," Sam revised, not sure who else was listening, and squeezed until he got his attention; Lucifer looked down at the hand on his arm and then up at him. Sam couldn't think of what else to say, so he tried to convey with a look how bad an idea it was to keep this fight going. Lucifer's eyebrows hitched higher in response, and Sam may have imagined the upward slant of his mouth, but he set a reassuring hand on Sam's arm, so Sam let him go.

The instant he had, Lucifer rushed at Michael. He got one hand knotted in his shirt and drew the other fist back like the string of a bow before the others were on him. Dean and Cas attempted to push him back while Raphael got one arm around his bicep and the other around his neck.

Naomi wedged herself into the gap between him and Michael, her hands shoving against Lucifer's chest as she drew herself up to her full height.

"Stop it!" she screamed into his face. "You've done enough. It's over."

Lucifer paused, and Sam was sure that he was about to go through Naomi to get to Michael. Then his fist opened and dropped to his side and he backed away, jerking his neck out of Raphael's grip. He walked out of the room without looking back, passing Anna in the entrance. Raphael followed along behind him and stopped briefly to talk to Anna, who gave him something from the first aid kit before he continued after Lucifer.

When Anna handed off the kit to Cas, he started rummaging through it while Michael sat down on the couch, staring off into the middle distance with his mouth resting on his interlaced fingers. Naomi wordlessly ran a hand through his hair, carefully avoiding his injuries. The next thing that Sam was aware of was Dean shaking his arm to get his attention.

"You aren't staying in a room with him," Dean said like arguing about it wasn't an option. Sam had told himself the same thing several times throughout the day, so he didn't expect the surge of annoyance at the order.

"He won't hurt me," Sam said before he could consciously come up with a response, and he gritted his teeth at how sure he sounded.

"He just beat his brother bloody--"

"And who started it?" Sam asked a little too loudly, apparently unable to keep himself from defending Lucifer when he remembered him shaking beneath his fingers, before huffing out a breath and lowering his voice. "He shouldn't have taken it as far as he did. But it's not like no one saw it coming." He was actually surprised that Michael had gotten off as lightly as he had.

"You're right." Sam started guiltily when he realized the words were coming from Michael. The blond pinched the bridge of his nose in a compulsive gesture and then winced. He looked tired as he reached up to his shoulder and clasped Naomi's hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of it while Cas dabbed at his face with an alcohol pad. "When we get together, we pick at each other until both of us are bleeding." He inhaled with a hiss when Cas swabbed at the cut on his head. "It's not a healthy relationship, but it's the one we've got."

"Luke doesn't make it easy," Anna said disapprovingly, arms crossed as she stood to the side, watching Cas work. Dean snorted in agreement, and Sam felt another unsolicited stab of irritation.

"No, he really doesn't. But neither do I," Michael admitted grudgingly.

"Then why don't you...stop going for each other's throats? Try to work it out?" Sam asked, maybe naively, but even after everything that he and Dean had been through, he was unable to understand how two brothers couldn't be in the same room without tearing each other apart, how they could hate each other so much that they would destroy anything between them to make the other suffer. And there was a fear that he had, that he refused to examine, that if he and Dean mirrored Lucifer and Michael so closely, then this may be their future. Michael gave a low, bitter laugh that sounded like it could have come from Lucifer.

"There are so many answers to that question that it might as well not have an answer," he said, lips pursed tightly. "You shouldn't have had to see it, though." He looked at Sam with imploring blue eyes before switching to Dean. "You might have changed your mind about staying for the wedding, but I still hope you do." Sam exchanged a glance with Dean.

"It's up to you," Dean said, followed up by a solidary look from Cas. Sam was struck momentarily speechless by their consideration.

"I'm not going anywhere, except to bed," Sam said finally, rubbing the back of his neck. "If you don't need my help with anything, I'm going to turn in for the night." His offer was followed by a round of negative replies and goodnights. Dean gave him another stern look to remind him of his earlier comment, but Sam thought he did a good job of letting him know without words how unimpressed he was with his mother hen routine before he said goodnight to the room at large and walked into the kitchen.

He had started thinking over how quickly the evening had gotten out of hand when he heard voices and stopped just shy of entering the kitchen proper, still hidden behind the wall that flanked the cabinets.

"...shouldn't provoke him," came Raphael's deep baritone.

"So you're saying I deserved it?" Lucifer asked, and Sam couldn't see him, but he could imagine him clearly: leaning against the counter, arms crossed, a politely inquisitive look on his face.

"You were looking to get punched," Raphael stated, and Lucifer must have been about to protest, because he followed up with, "Don't deny it. You know that Michael's self control leaves a lot to be desired, so you push him until he snaps so that you have a reason to retaliate."

Any compunctions Sam had about eavesdropping were swept away at hearing Lucifer getting lectured like a disobedient child.

"You try to convince everyone otherwise, but I know that you can restrain yourself. So exercise it. This is not the time for you and Michael to be attempting to kill each other," Raphael continued, a force behind his words like a boulder careening down a cliff face.

"You're right; we should set a date," Lucifer said sardonically, but his tone wasn't as cutting as Sam would have expected. There was a moment when no one spoke where Sam was sure he missed some visual subtext, but it was broken by Lucifer's belabored sigh. "Then keep him away from me until the wedding's over."

"That will be difficult, since he's made you one of his groomsmen."

"The bastard really doesn't have any friends, does he? What about you?"

"I am officiating."

"Of course you are," Lucifer said, disgruntled.

"It is my church," Raphael reasoned.

"I thought it was God's church."

"He's loaning it to me." Sam raised his eyebrows at that.

"Well, there's a debt you're never going to pay off," Lucifer said, but here was the brotherly teasing that had been absent with Michael.

"That's why there's an afterlife." This time, the silence between them stretched well-worn and comfortable, and Sam had time to wonder why Lucifer was even bothering with this conversation. There was no need to immerse himself this far in the world to keep up the ruse that he and Sam were trying to maintain.

"Do you forgive me?" Lucifer wrapped up the silence, the question quiet and sober and vast, and Sam stared unseeing in front of him, unsure if he had heard what he thought he had heard. The feeling that he shouldn't be listening returned with interest, but slinking back into the living room where there would be witnesses to his shame wasn't an option according to his pride, so he bucked up and sat tight.

"I was angry with you for a long time. But if Gabriel has forgiven you, what is there for me to forgive?" Raphael said. Lucifer gave a noncommittal hum in response, but Raphael must have read more into it. "You should talk to him."

"What is there to talk about? You said he's forgiven me," he said like the subject was closed, and Sam heard a sound like a dry chuckle from Raphael.

"I'm only giving advice; I know that you'll do what you want regardless." He paused like he was finding words, or approaching a difficult subject. "But you should give Michael this time to be happy. He deserves this."

"Apparently he deserves a lot of things, but has he earned any of it?"

"Loyalty often takes as much effort as rebellion," Raphael intoned liked he was imparting a sermon, but the effect was ruined by Lucifer's derisive snort. "And Michael is still trying to figure out who he is without our father. It's a lesson that we've all had to learn in different ways. Some sooner than others." The last was said with obvious emphasis.

"Besides, would you begrudge him what you have with Sam?" he continued, less of a direct question and more an oblique attempt to fish for information.

Sam was so shocked by the question that he held his breath for a moment to see if he had done anything in his surprise that had given him away. But whatever reaction he had been dreading or answer he had been straining to hear didn't come; Raphael's inquiry was met by complete silence from Lucifer.

"The movie must be over," Raphael said after a minute, and Sam took his word for it because he hadn't heard anything. "This is probably more advice you won't be taking, but you should go get some sleep." Sam heard Lucifer grunt before yawning as if on cue, and Sam kept his teeth clenched to keep himself from doing the same. He heard steps moving towards the opposite side of the kitchen.

"Will you be here tomorrow?" Lucifer asked. The question wouldn't have been out of place, but the longing in it belied the casual words, and Sam remembered sitting with Dean in the guest bedroom, chatting with him like they did between hunts. The scene had been so close to real that the differences were maddening, but it had been better than nothing. Maybe Sam already knew the answer to why Lucifer was in the kitchen talking to his brother.

"Yes. We should be back afternoon sometime," Raphael promised, but there was also an unspoken question about Lucifer's desperation, an ignorance that made it very plain that Lucifer didn't belong here, and neither did Sam. Lucifer didn't address it.

Sam heard them both leave the kitchen and checked to see if the coast was clear before moving in. He got a glass of water to use as a flimsy alibi if anyone walked in, and leaned against the counter while he waited for the gallery to clear out.

He studied his glass, tapping a finger on the side of it as he thought back over what he had heard. It had been different, listening to Lucifer talk without him being aware of Sam's presence, without his focus constantly snapping back to him like he was magnetic north. It had been easier to ignore the knot of emotions that being face-to-face with him always evoked, and hearing him discuss a subject as mundane as family trouble had been even more disarming. Sam had often thought that the gestures, the humor, all the little things that Lucifer did to humanize himself were purely for Sam's benefit, that they were just another way for Lucifer to manipulate the situation to his advantage by ostensibly bringing himself down to Sam's level. That belief had been strengthened by the Cage and disjointed memories of a being that had had more in common with a supernova than a man.

So he didn't know how to handle a Lucifer who had conversations about forgiveness with his brother in the kitchen and built treehouses in his spare time. None of that fit into what he knew about the Devil.

A few minutes later, he heard Lucifer and Raphael tramping back up the staircase with the kids in tow.

"...and-and then the horses chased them--" Samandriel gushed.

"They weren't horses, idiot, they were zebras," Zachariah said, and Sam heard Raphael's voice but too quiet for him to make out individual words. Samandriel started whining until the sound moved upwards and stopped. Someone must have picked him up.

"Oof, how much divinity did Gabriel give you?" Lucifer complained, and Sam was nonplussed until he remembered the candy from earlier.

"Uncle Gabe had a sugar crash because Sammy ate all of it and didn't save him any," Tess snitched primly with the careful enunciation of a parrot.

"Did he, now? Well, that's your mom's problem," Lucifer said gleefully.

"Uncle Luke, what happened to your face?" Uriel--Charles asked. Sam would never get used to calling him that.

"I fell down the stairs," came the dry quip, and Sam's lips twitched, caught between being amused at the inappropriate joke and feeling vaguely horrified. "What is it, Tess?" He sounded like he was bending down to talk to her. There was a silence broken by a loud kissing sound and Zach's obnoxious commentary. Then Sam heard a quiet, "Thank you, sweetheart. That feels a lot better," that wrung his heart out painfully.

"Have you finished building the treehouse yet?" Charles asked like he had waited long enough now that he knew his uncle wasn't dying.

"No, because every time you ask, I tear it back down and start over," Lucifer said.

"Really, but is it finished?" Lucifer sighed like a lot was being asked of him.

"I could maybe finish it sometime tomorrow, if I felt like it." That less than resounding assurance was met by a round of joyful shouts from the children followed by both adults fielding a gabble of new questions, like, Could they stay until it was finished? (No.) Could they stay the night tomorrow if it was finished then? (Yes.) Could they sleep in the treehouse? (Maybe, after Raphael had inspected it first, to which Lucifer made an insulted noise.)

They all started saying their goodbyes and making plans about what they would do tomorrow, and Sam lost the thread of conversation until he heard Lucifer telling Samandriel and Tess to go find their mom in the living room so they could get ready for bed. Sam emptied his glass and set it in the sink before he walked out of the kitchen as he heard little feet scampering through the dining room. He made sure he wouldn't be seen by anyone congregated at the front door before he slinked down the stairs.

He didn't expect the complete and total blackness that swamped him at the foot of the stairs, though the word "basement" should have tipped him off. He shuffled forward slowly to make sure he didn't trip over anything until he reached a wall. He started running his hand over it at chest height, looking for a light switch.

Light dawned in the large open room, though he hadn't found the switch. He looked around. He was standing next to a bar right beside the queue of stools, not far from a pool table with all of the billiards already racked and waiting. On the other side of the stairs was a wall of bookcases stocked with fairly serious-looking tomes that reminded him of his law office, paired with leather furniture that screamed bachelor pad. Beyond that was what Sam assumed to be the media room, the large screen now dark and the chairs empty. Gabriel stood right outside the entrance, rubbing his hands over his face and through a mop of spectacularly rumpled hair.

"Uh, sorry. Did I wake you?" Sam asked automatically.

"Thanks for the concern, sweet thing, but you couldn't sneak up on me. Not the way you lumber around like a bear looking for a place to hibernate," Gabriel bantered, though some of the pith was taken out of his words by the sleepy crackle of his voice. He followed it up with a full-body yawn, bowing his back and making grabby-hands at the air while he seemingly unhinged his jaw. Sam's gaze raked up and down Gabriel's compact form, taking in the t-shirt depicting the Playboy bunny with a monocle and mustache and rubber ducky pajama pants he had changed into at some point after dinner, before he smacked himself mentally. He was _not_ checking out _Gabriel_. _What is wrong with me?_ he asked himself, the question tinged with disbelieving desperation. "Your cave's over there if you're looking to settle down for a long winter's nap." Sam snapped out of his self-berating and took a few steps sideways so he could see past the wall he was standing beside to where Gabriel was pointing to a recessed door.

"Uh, thanks," Sam said, running a hand through his hair.

"No problemo, Sambino--" Gabriel trailed off, suddenly entranced by Sam's arm. Sam almost jumped when Gabriel grabbed him by the wrist. "What happened?" His voice rasped like his throat had suddenly gone dry.

Sam looked at his arm and noticed blood there for the first time. It obviously wasn't his, and he tried to remember where it had come from when he realized it was smeared right where Lucifer had placed his hand before Sam had let go of his arm.

"Uh. It's, uh..." He inexplicably felt the need to hide the fight from Gabriel, but his lifetime of telling stories, coming up with lies on the spot and spinning fiction to everyone from housewives to government agents completely and utterly failed him.

"Is anyone hurt?" Gabriel asked, and for one awful second, Sam thought that the other man was going to start hyperventilating. "Who all's hurt? Is Luke okay? How bad did he hurt Michael? What about everyone else? Cas, Anna, Raphael? Did you call an ambulance?" He patted his pants pockets weakly, but evidently didn't find his phone, and Sam just watched him, lost for words. "Come on, Sam, give me something..." Then his eyes darted towards the stairs with the realization that he could get his answers firsthand, and he started past Sam. He caught him by the shoulder and spun him around.

"Hey. Hey, Gabriel. Stop. Wait." Gabriel was shaking under his hand, and Sam had a flash of deja vu until he saw that the shorter man had started tapping his foot nervously as he tucked his hands underneath his arms.

"They're fine. They fought, but Cas patched up Michael, and Luke and Raphael were talking in the kitchen before I came down here. Everyone's okay," Sam said, trying to sound soothing. Gabriel's face was drawn and miserable like he hadn't seen it since he had been forced to decide between his brother and humanity, though that had also been one of the last times that he had seen him alive. "Are you okay?"

"Sure. What did I expect to happen?" Gabriel asked rhetorically, looking off to the side. "That they would act like decent brothers for once? Silly me." He turned away and walked over to the couch in what could be considered part of the library, though there weren't any partitions. He sprawled onto it, putting an arm over his eyes. Sam walked over to the back of the couch, staring down at him, unsure of what he should do or say. He wanted to know more about what was going on between the three brothers, what Gabriel had forgiven Lucifer for that Michael hadn't, but he couldn't think of a way to broach the subject.

"Do you like pancakes?" Gabriel asked, and Sam made himself process the question twice before he answered.

"Yes?"

Gabriel uncovered one eye to stare at him.

"It's not the most incriminating question, Sam. Do you or do you not like to eat fried batter from a pan?"

"Yes," Sam said with more confidence.

"I'm making some tomorrow," Gabriel said, voice unusually subdued as he covered his eyes again. "I'll try to fend off the hungry hoards as long as I can, but I am only one man. One devastatingly handsome and virile man, but a man nonetheless. So don't dawdle."

Standing there with his fingers digging into the leather, Sam still felt like the subject wasn't closed, that he should try to say something reassuring.

"Gabriel..." Sam started. The other man sighed heartily, but the noise was fond.

"Alright. I know it's been a rough night for you, so I'll make an exception this one time." Gabriel squirmed until he was pressed into the back of the couch, and waved his arm at Sam like he was waiting for him to lie down on the narrow ledge of cushion. "C'mere. And grab that blanket while you're at it."

"Uh, no thanks," Sam said, though he did ball up the afghan that was lying on the back of the nearest chair to throw it at him. Gabriel caught it and unfurled it like a sail before cocooning himself in it.

"You don't know what you're missing," Gabriel promised, his voice muffled in the blanket. Sam smiled to himself. He figured that his questions could wait, which had probably been Gabriel's aim anyway.

"Yeah, I'm sure," he said, locating the switch and shutting off the lights. "'Night." He was answered by indecipherable mumbling and he used the light from his phone to find his way to the door he had seen earlier and into the bedroom.

He stumbled around until he found another door that led into the bathroom, which looked large enough to belong to a master suite. He squinted when he turned on the lights and parked himself in front of the panoramic mirror that reflected the bath behind him, huge and raised on a dais like a throne.

He stared at the iron red smudge on his skin for he didn't know how long before turning on the faucet. He grabbed the untouched bar of soap and rubbed at the stain mechanically, watching the water color the white porcelain pink before it circled down the drain, much like his expectations of how this day should have gone.

It had only been a few hours since he had last looked in a mirror and asked himself what he was going to do. He had decided to play along and get his answers out of Lucifer any way that he could. And there had been no doubt that he could. He had suffered through Lucifer's worst and survived; he knew how to weather the archangel's wrath and how to wait out the storm. But even if he couldn't, he wasn't trapped here. If Lucifer pushed him past a point, over a threshold, Sam would die, and it didn't seem like he was ready to let that happen just yet.

But Sam hadn't expected him to do nothing at all. Lucifer hadn't raised a hand against him, and had gone so far as to be mostly...decent. Downright placid, in fact.

Until he had attacked Michael.

That had been more like Lucifer. Sam used to think that the most dangerous kind of people were those who had a temper that could explode without warning. That had been before Lucifer had gotten him alone and slowly chipped away at him with endless careful, measured violence until long after his resolve had been pulverized into dust. But Lucifer's anger also gave the archangel a clarity, a predictability--and that Lucifer was familiar. No matter how messed up it sounded, his fight with Michael had been reassuring in a world that didn't make sense. That's what Sam would hold on to: not the way Lucifer had talked to the kids, or how lost he had looked in that single, fleeting moment after Michael had denied him forgiveness, but the way he had struck Michael with steady, deliberate blows like he was a nail to be hammered.

He rinsed off the soap and gripped the edge of the sink in both hands, looking critically at his face. It wasn't any different than it had been earlier, but he tried to see beyond the thin veneer of the world around him to where his brother was waiting for him to wake up; to where Lucifer was still safely locked away in the Cage. He blinked and ran his fingers over his frowning mouth before he turned away and walked out of the bathroom.

Sam got undressed and settled into bed with the full intention of sleeping with one eye open, in case Lucifer made a reappearance. But soon enough, he was deeply asleep. Mercifully, he didn't dream.


	8. Chapter 8

He woke up screaming, but he wasn't having a nightmare--he was in _pain_.

He flung an arm across the bed and crawled across it, the bedspread and sheets twining around him like rope, and he was so weak that they almost succeeded in holding him in place. He dragged himself inch by painstaking inch until he finally reached the edge of the mattress and grabbed a hold of the nightstand. He tumbled off the bed in a mostly controlled fall and then lay prone on the floor, his stomach roiling. He rested his slick forehead against the wood beneath him and waited for the nausea to pass.

 _Where's Luke?_ was the first thought that slipped through his pain-addled mind. _No--Lucifer_ , he corrected dully and curled into himself as another wave of pain struck. He tried to shift himself, to alleviate some of the pressure that was causing this agony, but he couldn't pinpoint where it was coming from. He felt like he was the one who had been in a fight, but he could tell that the damage was deeper, that something was seriously wrong. Reality was seeping through again, reminding him that he was actually laid out somewhere, knocking on death's door.

He grunted as he climbed the drawers of the nightstand to reach his phone, which he knocked onto the ground when grabbing it proved to be too difficult. He pressed Lucifer's number and cradled the phone to his ear, shuddering as he buried his face into the crook of his elbow, his harsh breaths clinging humidly to his skin.

" _I probably don't want to hear from you and I won't check this anyway, so don't bother leaving a message_." Sam could hear his own indistinct voice protesting in the background, and Lucifer's words became more distant. " _Sam, you would be a pain in my ass if you weren't such a pain in my ass_ \--" and the voicemail cut off. Sam felt like weeping.

He pulled himself into a seated position using the frame of the bed and leaned back against it for a moment to screw up his courage. The pain was subsiding a bit, or maybe he was already getting used to it, because he actually managed to pull himself to his feet without collapsing halfway. He took a few shaky steps until he had run out of bed to lean on and stared at the wide, intimidating expanse of empty floor before him, illuminated in the glow from his cellphone.

 _I should call someone else_ , he thought uncertainly. But no one here could do anything for him. This wasn't going to be fixed by first aid kits and hospital trips. He needed to find Lucifer.

So he gritted his teeth and walked out into the open, the unsteady lighting and feverish pain working together to mess with his depth perception; he almost fell when he misjudged his steps and the wall that he reached for wasn't there to catch him. When he finally found his way into the rest of the basement, the light filtering down from the top of the staircase was enough to see by, so he pocketed his phone. After the minutes that felt like hours that it took him to walk the few feet to the bottom steps, he clung to the banister as he counted his heart beats, thinking of anything and everything but the effort it was going to take to climb the stairs.

He put a foot on one stair, then another, crouching low to keep his unreliable equilibrium from tipping him backwards. Several steps in, his foot slipped. He fell forward, colliding with the sharp edges of the stairs. For a moment, he just lay there, in so much pain that it felt like the air around him was throbbing with it. He bit back a pathetic groan, but it escaped despite him.

"Sam? That you?"

 _Shit_. He had forgotten about Gabriel. He couldn't hope to come up with a coherent answer, so he stayed still, silently urging him to go back to sleep.

"That doesn't look comfortable," Gabriel mumbled, still half-asleep as he shuffled towards the stairs. "What's wrong with the bed? Did you see one too many prostitutes stuffed in motel mattresses? This isn't the Stanley, you know."

"Where's Luke?" Sam rasped, laying his head back on the stairs when even the effort of saying that much was painful.

"I don't know, I thought he was with you," Gabriel babbled before he stopped abruptly, close enough to get a good look at Sam. "Holy shit." He crossed himself on autopilot, looking gobsmacked, and Sam would have laughed if he didn't think his lungs would pop. He struggled to get an arm beneath him to prop himself up. "Wait, let me get you up." Gabriel wiggled his way in beside him, slinging Sam's arm over his shorter frame. Sam was suddenly very aware that he was shirtless.

"Come on, Sam, you've gotta work with me," Gabriel grunted, straining under Sam's dead weight. Sam got his legs under him, and they both swayed unsteadily before they found their balance. "Attaboy. Though maybe lay off the Miracle-Gro in your green shakes. What the hell happened?"

"I've got to find Luke," Sam said instead of answering the question, and he leaned forward until Gabriel got the hint and they started their unwieldy struggle up the stairs.

"I got that the first time. But what happened? Are you diabetic?" Sam shook his head, too exhausted to speak. "Heart condition?" Another shake. "Poisoned?" Shake. "In the early stages of vampirism?" Sam gave him a flat look. "No? Well you're not giving me a lot to work with here." Then Gabriel turned to him slowly, his eyes dark beneath his lowered brows. "Did you get hurt in the fight? Did Luke do this to you?" Unlike Lucifer, whose voice rarely revealed anything beyond a vague amusement, Gabriel sounded absolutely furious.

"Gabriel. No," Sam breathed, meeting his eyes and trying to put as much conviction into the faint words as he could.

"Yeah, okay. Alright," Gabriel grumbled, facing forward again. "But me and Luke, we have a few things we need to discuss, anyway." Sam shivered at the memory that stirred up: Gabriel facing off against Lucifer as he, Dean and Kali high-tailed it out of the Elysian. Gabriel must have thought he was chilled by the cold air in the vaulted foyer, because the arm around his waist tightened, rubbing absently at his side as if to impart some of its warmth.

"Here. You sit tight. Look alive. I'll be back with Luke in two shakes," Gabriel said, leading him away from the stairs and into the dining room. Sam stopped in the door, refusing to budge any further and nearly dragging them both down.

"No, I've got to go see him. Is he outside?" he asked, his mind going to the treehouse.

"That's my bet. But you really shouldn't go out there," Gabriel said, his expressive eyebrows dipping imploringly. "I'll get Cas; he can take a look at you, figure out why you look like Marilyn Manson's ghost." Sam shook his head.

"I feel better. I'll be okay," he said. He actually felt like his insides were being immolated, but that was an improvement on the pain from before. He even managed a few casual steps unsupported before he staggered and Gabriel caught him underneath his arm, barely keeping him from plowing face-first into the marble floor.

"Okay, big guy, door's this way." Sam started to protest that he didn't need his help, but Gabriel tugged him by the arm to get him moving. Walking forward in tandem, they left the hall and emerged into the night air.

When the breeze hit him, Sam thought fleetingly about taking Gabriel's suggestion and turning back--it was _cold_. And his shirt wasn't the only article of clothing he'd forgotten; he wasn't wearing any shoes. He hunkered closer to the warm body beside him while he tried not to topple them over as his feet stiffened in the cold. The walk across the yard was equal parts awkward and exhausting, and Gabriel stopped them both at the tree line, propping Sam against the first one they came across like a piece of wood while he leaned against it, bent over double and panting with one finger held up to buy time.

"It's been a few years since my fireman days," he said, the words coming in pairs every other breath. Sam had enough energy to raise his eyebrows doubtfully. "Oh, don't give me that look. Same uniform, different pole. Alright, let's go." He gave Sam's back a pat and he draped himself across Gabriel once more. The shorter man grunted. "And the idea is to lean on me, not for me to carry your ass; you're not exactly Maria Mukhortova."

They went a little ways further into the woods. It was difficult to tell where they were going this late at night, or early in the morning, but they weren't walking long before Gabriel stopped again. Sam looked around for the reason and saw the treehouse squatting in some branches several yards away.

"Luke! You better get down here, pronto!" Gabriel shouted up at the tree.

A lantern moved past one of the windows, the light barring the nearby trees, then floated out of the door in front of a bowed figure.

"What do you want?" came the unenthusiastic reply.

"How about you just do what I said and come down here?" Gabriel barked like a drill sergeant. The light and the shadow holding it paused for a second before Lucifer slung it over his shoulder and clambered down the ladder. The next second, he was at Sam's side, helping Gabriel sit him down while he stood the lantern up beside him on the ground.

"Is there a reason he's not wearing clothes?" Lucifer's voice washed over Sam as he leaned against the tree at his back, shivering in the cold air. But he hadn't even started to rest before someone was pulling him forward; he thought about fighting it for all of two seconds until a weight so warm that it was almost burning settled across his shoulders. He pulled it closer around him, huddling beneath it for cover, before he realized that it was Lucifer's jacket.

"Same reason I'm not wearing a damn coat," Gabriel chattered, his arms wrapped around himself. "But he seemed to think you'd know what was wrong. So go on, doc, give it to us straight."

Sam felt fingers only slightly warmer than the air press against his forehead before cupping his cheek.

"Sam," Lucifer murmured, and Sam turned into his hand to look at his sinister, under-lit face. "Is this the same thing that happened earlier?"

"Yeah, but worse," Sam answered, finally feeling up to stringing words together.

"This has happened before? Today?" Gabriel asked, outraged. "Then why are you out here playing with your Lincoln Logs instead of getting him to a hospital?"

"I wasn't sure if it would happen again," he replied clinically. _So he knew there was a chance_ , Sam thought bitterly.

"That's why you take him to a _hospital_ , to _make sure_ it doesn't happen again," Gabriel ranted.

"He's fine now," Lucifer said. Gabriel harrumphed.

"How do you know? Are you okay?" Gabriel asked Sam the second question dubiously.

"Yeah, I am," he said, and he really was feeling a lot less wretched. He needed to ask Lucifer about that, but not while Gabriel was in earshot. Gabriel hummed suspiciously, squinting at him like he was looking for signs of dishonesty, before looking away, apparently satisfied.

"And how about you? You look like a side of beef after a training montage," Gabriel said, eyeing Lucifer's face. The bad lighting didn't give much to go on, but his split lip looked pretty painful, and the shadows around his eye were definitely a bit darker than the rest. Lucifer got up from his crouch with some help from the tree behind him.

"Gabriel, I'm a little busy here," he said, and Gabriel huffed in disbelief.

"What, building a treehouse in the middle of the night? It's been there for years, it can hang out a bit longer. So who started it this time?" Gabriel asked, an edge of anger to his voice. His eyes darted to Sam like he expected him to answer when Lucifer didn't, but Sam gave him his best "I'm staying out of this" look and he turned back to his brother. "Hey, take your time. I'll be here all night." Gabriel fell back on his butt and crossed his legs in the lotus position.

"You really want to know?" Lucifer asked while Gabriel looked on, his expression growing guarded. "You started it by inviting me here, Gabriel. You knew what would happen."

"You're so full of shit," he said with feeling, and Lucifer's eyebrows raised in clear warning. "You know what? Fine. Maybe I am to blame for thinking that you two douches had matured enough over the past few years to stop measuring your dicks every time you're in the same room. That's on me. But you're really going to bring other people into this? You're going to bring Sam into this?" Gabriel gestured at Sam with emphasis. _So much for staying out of it_.

"I'm sure he can handle himself."

"Wow. Okay, yeah, I'm done with this. I'm over it. I've listened to your insufferable asshole routine one too many times; I'm not buying tickets to that show again." He held out a hand towards Sam, fingers wiggling expectantly. "Sam, give me your phone." Confused, Sam fished his phone out of his pajama pocket and unlocked it before placing it into Gabriel's waiting palm. Gabriel quickly tapped his thumbs over the screen, narrating while he worked.

"I'm giving you my number. If Dr. Moreau over here wants to keep studying you until you keel over, you give me a ring." He tossed it back to Sam before pointing a finger at Luke. "You hear that? If he has to call me, I will be--"

"What? You'll be waiting for him with open arms? Stop pining, Gabriel, it's pathetic," Lucifer said like he was telling an amusing joke. Gabriel's usually animated face froze, his dark eyes trained on Lucifer's face.

"Fuck you," he said softly, but not soft enough to hide the hurt in his voice. Then he got up and left, his form small in a way that it hadn't been as he trudged through the trees back the way they had come. Sam stared after him, the entire conversation smashing and twisting together as it came to a screeching halt inside his head.

"What the hell was that?" he breathed, completely at a loss.

"How are you feeling?" Lucifer asked instead, and Sam felt another brush of fingers against his face that he swatted away before turning earnest eyes on the other man, who was now offering his hand, the lantern held in the other. Sam took it hesitantly and allowed Lucifer to help him up.

"Why did you say that?" Sam asked, hoping Lucifer would know which part he was talking about, because he didn't want to be more specific.

"About him wanting you?" he asked plainly, and Sam felt his face warm. "It got him out of here so that we can talk."

"But he doesn't...He's never..."

"Gabriel has always had a...perverse fascination with our true vessels. It seems the same holds true here." Sam thought about what that meant for all of two seconds before he decided he didn't want to think about it any more.

"Well, he was trying to help. He didn't deserve that," Sam said, remembering how affected Gabriel was by Lucifer's mocking words.

"I killed Gabriel, Sam," Lucifer said steadily, the light from the lantern glinting in his eyes, and Sam felt the cold bite deeper even swaddled in the jacket as he was. "What do you care what I say to some figment of your imagination?"

 _Is that why you were having a heart-to-heart with Raphael earlier?_ he almost asked, but he wasn't feeling up to psychoanalyzing the Devil.

"I don't. But what I do want to know is why I started feeling better as soon as I got here," Sam said, unable to keep the accusation out of his voice. "Better yet, why is this even happening in the first place if you're healing me?"

"Are things not moving fast enough? I didn't realize my still being in the Cage was such an imposition for you," Lucifer said as he clambered swiftly up the ladder. Sam ground his teeth.

"I'm not saying yes," he replied automatically like his continued free will depended on it, even if Lucifer was being facetious. He heard something being thrown around in the treehouse.

"If you really think that's what I'm after, then you're not doing that great a job of convincing me to keep you alive."

"You're not doing that great a job of keeping me alive, anyway," Sam rebutted, moving around the treehouse until he could see movement inside, which stopped at his words. Lucifer ducked back through the small door and made his way back down the ladder, carrying more now than just the lantern. Sam's measure of defiance was swept away by the realization of how ridiculous this all was, exchanging barbs with Lucifer in the woods in a dream. He was too sleep deprived to argue the same circles that they had drawn years ago. He zipped up his jacket and fiddled with the zipper. "Then why are you still here, if you're not waiting for me to say yes?" Sam hadn't appreciated how noisy the woods were until he could hear every little rustle and chirp of whatever was moving around out there while he waited for Lucifer to answer.

"Because I can't leave."

"But why? What are you trying to do?"

"No, Sam," Lucifer said emphatically, moving closer. "I'm trapped here, just as much as you are."

"What?" Sam asked, not giving any ground. "How is that--How are you trapped here?"

"You said it yourself, back in the shed." Sam cast his mind back to their earlier conversation.

"Because you're human?" Sam ventured uncertainly, but Lucifer didn't comment. "You're not actually--Whatever you're pretending to be, whatever role you're playing, you're still an archangel."

"Not while I'm in here," Lucifer said, tapping on Sam's forehead, but Sam didn't back away. "The greatest part of my grace is still in the Cage. What little I still have control over isn't enough to leave this dream, even if I wasn't already using all of it to heal you."

"You can't be stuck here," Sam said like he was trying to convince them both.

"Why would I choose to stay here?" Lucifer asked scornfully, and Sam assumed it wasn't rhetorical.

"To keep me alive so that I can free you," Sam insisted, his brow furrowed. But Lucifer stayed quiet like he was still waiting for him to come up with the right answer. Sam felt a realization creeping up on him; he kept catching glimpses of it out of the corner of his eye but was too afraid to look. He continued to specify, a sourceless anxiety seeping into his words. "You want me to say yes so that you can possess me again."

"From the Cage? And how would that work?" he asked, and Sam stared at him, unseeing.

"You'd figure it out."

"It's touching, how much faith you have in me," he said in a pleased voice, patting Sam on the shoulder before grasping it. "But it isn't that easy." He let Sam go.

"So you can't possess me?" Sam asked, his heart in his throat, so many emotions vying for his attention that he couldn't sort them out. Lucifer's head dropped back like he was gathering patience to deal with Sam's particular slowness.

"That is what I was getting at, yes," Lucifer said blandly.

"No. Say it," Sam growled through gritted teeth. Sam often tried to convince himself otherwise, but Lucifer had never lied to him directly; he wanted to hear Lucifer say the words, to remove all doubt. Lucifer looked at him, his mouth stretched in displeasure.

"I can't possess you. Not while I'm--while most of me is still in the Cage," Lucifer admitted. Sam slumped back against a tree, not sure if he could hold his own weight. He had been so certain that he and Lucifer were back to the same cat-and-mouse game that they had played during the Apocalypse that he hadn't questioned how Lucifer could possess him while he was still on Earth.

"Why did you save me?" Sam asked, breathless like he had been punched.

"Because I could," Lucifer said, looking him straight in the eyes. Then he shrugged. "And it was something to do." He lifted what he was still holding to bring attention to it. "It doesn't look like I'm going to get any more work done, so--"

"What were you and Michael fighting about?" Sam asked, and Lucifer's eyes snapped back to him. "What did you do to Gabriel?"

"You know what I did to Gabriel," Lucifer said, his eyes narrowing at the change of subject.

"Don't dodge my questions," Sam said angrily, but he didn't know why he was making a big deal out of this. He just felt belligerent, at odds with his situation and everything that was happening, and he wanted to rattle Lucifer and make him fight back. He wanted to be on familiar ground again. "What did you--what did Luke do to him?"

"Why do you care, Sam? Are you digging up your boyfriend's sordid past?" Lucifer asked, his tone bored, and Sam's stomach dropped. "Or do you have a thing for my baby brother?" Sam huffed a sharp laugh to cover how much the words had stung.

"Are you jealous, really?" Sam asked, trying to match Lucifer's unattached tone and failing. "Is that something else that's the same between realities? Gabriel switched sides, and you decided that he was getting a little too close to your true vessel, so you killed him?"

"Why would he go against me for you?" Lucifer asked, his tone complicated, but Sam ignored it and continued barrelling on.

"Maybe because you don't deserve loyalty. And what does that say about you, that he saw the worst of what humanity could do and still chose to side with us?" Sam asked, the familiar, hateful words rolling off his tongue the way they would between tortures, before Lucifer would interrupt him with some new torment. He wasn't interrupting him now. "But I think he knew what kind of monster you were. Before he even went up against you, he knew he was already dead."

"You should stop talking," Lucifer said, the words ringing with promised violence.

"And you know what? Michael was right. God does still control you. When you got out of the Cage, you did everything by the book; you didn't even try to resist it, you just went along with His plan. Then Gabriel got in the way and you killed him...or was his death just another part of the plan? Did He tell you to work your way through your family tree, or was that just you showing some initiative for once?" A fist sailed past his face and hit the tree beside him.

"Shut the _fuck_ up," Lucifer shouted. And Sam was scared, but not because he thought Lucifer would hit him, but because he hadn't, and because in the brightening daylight he could see unshed tears in Lucifer's eyes.

"Lucifer--" he started, and what he thought would be triumph had quickly turned into regret.

" _Leave_."

"I'm--I didn't think--" he stuttered, but how could he finish that sentence? _I didn't think you cared that you killed your brother? I didn't think it would work?_ Lucifer pulled back and turned to the things he had dropped before he had lashed out, his abused hand twitching at his side.

"Go back inside, Sam," Lucifer said thickly before grabbing up his tools and walking off deeper into the woods. He didn't look back.

Sam pressed his head back against the tree with both hands to his face. _Don't feel guilty, don't feel guilty_... he pleaded with himself, but it only made him feel worse. Lucifer really was a manipulative son-of-a-bitch if he was making him feel bad about saying some mean words when the archangel had done far worse. He chuckled through his hands at the thought and rubbed them back through his hair, wondering when everything would stop turning on its head. He didn't think he could take much more of this sympathy for the Devil bullshit.

But Lucifer was healing him, and he didn't feel like he was about to die, so he must still be at it. And for no other reason than that he could, according to him. His and Lucifer's dynamic was being rewritten by this place; his anger and hatred weren't working like they were supposed to, but he didn't know what else to feel, because that was all that he had allowed himself. Hate was all that he had been able to afford when the alternative was to be used as a weapon against everything that he had spent his life protecting.

He rubbed a hand over his face again, staring off in the general direction that Lucifer had disappeared and wondering if he should follow him. He took a few steps forward, then back, and realized he had started pacing at the same time that his phone went off in his pocket.

He pulled it out to find a text from "Candyman"--emoticons of a pot leaf and a cake. He stared at it for a while, thinking, _Pot? Cake?_ over and over until he came to the conclusion that either Gabriel was making recreational pastries or the pancakes he had promised the night before were ready. He rubbed the sleep out of the corners of his eyes and glanced into the woods again before opening his texts with Luke and staring at their last conversation about meeting up for lunch.

He typed out _I'm sorry_ and let it sit for a minute in the send field, just letting it sink in. Then he deleted it and put his phone in his pocket before walking out of the woods that he had staggered into, with a different kind of pain settling in his chest.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, this chapter gave me serious trouble. It's kind of all over the place, but I hope it's cohesive; it's difficult to tell after the hundredth read-through. I'm also not sure how regular future updates will be, since the inspiration for this fic comes and goes in fits and starts, but I'm determined to get it finished. I just wanted to get this chapter out so I could let the readers know, because though you deserve a lot more, you at least deserve that. All that aside, happy reading!

Sam found Gabriel in the kitchen hopping between the pans and the mixing bowls with an obscene amount of energy for this early in the morning. He had apparently made several types of pancake batter and had enlisted the help of all eight stove-top burners to make them; he already had a formidable pile. Sam peeked curiously into the bowls.

"Are those...wheat and banana pancakes?" Sam asked with wonder and looked at him. They were his favorite. "How'd you know?"

"A girl never reveals her secrets," Gabriel said, and he sounded normal enough, but he kept his back turned to him. Sam positioned himself closer to the stove while staying far enough away to avoid the juggling act that Gabriel was performing with the pans, but he didn't look up from his work.

"Gabriel," Sam said, and his golden gaze only flicked to him momentarily, but he hummed to show that he was listening. "I'm sorry about Luke. He shouldn't have said what he did out there."

"Let me stop you right there, kiddo," Gabriel interjected while he started flipping pancakes like a machine, one after another in ordered rows. "I know what you're doing, because making excuses for him used to be my job. But a word to the wise: if you start now, you'll never stop." His words sounded blank and tired, contrasting the energy with which he conducted the kitchen. But Sam didn't have to look hard to see the anger that made his movements a little too sharp and a little too quick.

"Then thanks for helping me out," Sam said, genuinely grateful. Gabriel stopped and rested his hands, one still gripping a spatula, at the edge of the stove, perilously close to the burners. "I didn't get a chance to tell you that." Gabriel's fingers spasmed where they gripped the stove before he looked up at Sam.

"That warms the cockles of my heart," he said, emphasizing "cock," followed by a slight smirk. Sam rolled his eyes as was expected of him, and the mood in the kitchen relaxed a little. Gabriel started turning off the burners, having amassed enough pancakes to possibly feed everyone in the house until tomorrow and then cater the wedding. He started sorting them on different plates by ingredients, and among the other flavors, there was a stack of chocolate chip pancakes. Sam knew they were a popular choice, but they were also Luke's favorite, and if Gabriel knew Sam's favorite, then he knew that.

"What happened between you two?" Sam asked. He probably shouldn't be asking such a loaded question, but he felt that Gabriel might be more forthcoming than Lucifer, and his curiosity wouldn't stop sinking its claws into him.

Gabriel didn't answer right away as he flipped the last of the pancakes onto their respective plates. When he was done, he turned to face Sam fully, and his eyes promptly landed on Sam's chest before roving slowly back up to his face, like he was having trouble tugging them away. Sam felt his blood take the same path as he casually fumbled at the jacket zipper, which had slipped down to expose a lot more skin than he was comfortable showing. Gabriel's mouth tightened, and Sam's feeling of awkwardness spurred him to speak.  
  
"What Luke said about...about you and me--" he started.

"He shouldn't have said that," Gabriel cut him off, putting him out of his misery. "Look, I like you, Sam. And I like teasing you because you blush like a Southern belle. It's cute." Sam looked up in a futile attempt to keep more blood from rushing to his face. "But it's a non-issue. You're with Luke. I respect that, even if I don't respect him. And before you ask: no, we didn't have a falling out over a guy. That was because of this." And Gabriel pulled up his shirt and tapped at an indentation in the middle of his abdomen, right below his rib cage. Sam knew immediately what he was looking at.

"He stabbed you?" Sam asked, always a bit blindsided by the ways that the real world bled over into this place.

"Did he tell you about it?" Gabriel asked quizzically, and Sam realized it probably wasn't the most obvious conclusion to make. He shook his head mutely and Gabriel shrugged his eyebrows while he rubbed absently at his scar. "Yeah. He stabbed me. He was aiming for Michael, but unluckily for me, he has terrible aim." His smirk was back for a moment, crinkling the corners of his eyes, before he sobered again and dropped his shirt. "I guess you've heard that Luke was into some pretty bad shit a while back?" Sam nodded. He had known that Luke had had trouble with the law in the past. Luke would laugh at the irony of ending up with a lawyer and joke about becoming Sam's best client, and Sam would assure Luke that he couldn't afford him. "Last time we all got together, about five years ago, he was high off his ass on something. Giggling and trying to get Raphael to give him a piggy-back ride. It would have been hilarious, if he wasn't killing himself." He put a few of what appeared to be chocolate pancakes with M&Ms on a plate, then started piling on the powdered sugar and whipped cream. He really did eat like an unsupervised five-year-old; Sam didn't know how he had become a professional pastry chef.

"Anyway, the kids were there, and he had made the same old promises and broken them one too many times, so Michael just laid into him." Gabriel switched to a fair impression of Michael's condescending tone. "'You're a waste', 'We don't care if you die', 'Do us a favor and get it over with already,' et cetera. You've seen how he gets--this was that to the nth degree. So Luke thought it would be a brilliant idea to throw a knife into the mix. I knew as sure as shit that he was going to kill him right there. I could see it: everything that would happen, from that point forward, like it was playing on a television screen--Michael dying, Luke digging himself an early grave, and then there was me, left to patch up what was left of my life with two brothers in the ground.

"And I couldn't do it," Gabriel said and looked up at him. Sam was afraid that he was going to see another archangel on the verge of tears, but Gabriel was dry-eyed and solemn like he rarely was. "So I got off my ass, stopped sitting on the sidelines, and did something about it for the first time in my life. I could have lived without the knife in the gut, but I lived anyway, so...Actually, I think it was your bro who drove me to the hospital. Yeah, it was, because I think I almost bled out waiting for him to cover the seats."

"Dean was there?" Sam asked, staring at him in astonishment. He was sure he would have remembered Dean telling him about Luke stabbing his brother. It would explain why Dean despised Luke, but not why he wasn't actively trying to ruin Sam's relationship. Though, he had a hunch that Cas had had a hand in keeping that from happening.

"Yep. He and Cas got there late, so they missed most of the show, but they really saved my bacon. You know, when Cas became a paramedic, I didn't think that he'd be patching us all up," Gabriel said, looking pained. _Maybe he became one so he could_ , Sam thought, because it seemed like exactly the kind of thing Cas would do.

"So he stabbed you, and you forgave him, just like that?" Sam asked. Thinking about everything that Lucifer had put him through, he couldn't imagine how much worse it must have been for Gabriel. He knew what it was like to be caught between warring archangels, but he hadn't loved them, and he hadn't had to watch helplessly for thousands, millions, billions of years as they tore their family apart. But Gabriel had forgiven Luke, and Sam wondered if the similarities between worlds ran both ways, if Gabriel would have forgiven Lucifer if he had lived.

"Eh, I've had worse cases of food poisoning," Gabriel said with a wry grin. He stuck a dripping forkful of pancake in his mouth and continued talking around it. "But it wasn't quite that easy; us Novaks can hold a grudge, if you couldn't tell. And the asshole did run off right after he stabbed me and then disappeared off the face of the Earth for a bit while I was in the hospital. I could forgive the accidental acupuncture, but that one was a doozy, let me tell you." He walked over to the fridge and took out a jug of milk. "But I got over it. And now he's clean, he's hanging out with the right people--he's still a bastard, but he's been a bastard for as long as I've known him. Why should I punish him when he's turning things around?" Gabriel stared into the open fridge, deciding what else he should grab, and snagged a bottle of chocolate syrup before closing the door.

"Maybe he deserves it," Sam said stubbornly, thinking about his earlier words to Lucifer. Gabriel turned shocked eyes on him while chocolate syrup continued glooping into his glass.

"Whoa now. 'He deserves it'? What the hell happened out there?" he asked, his whole forehead creased in consternation.

"I just--" Sam said, but he didn't want to admit that he couldn't accept that Gabriel had forgiven Lucifer, that Lucifer could be forgiven. If he started making concessions, he didn't know where they would end. "I knew about his drug problem, but I can't believe he tried to kill his own brother."

"Well, I'm still here," Gabriel said, swinging his arms wide like he had just finished a magic trick. "And I may sound like I'm making excuses, but Michael isn't completely blameless."

"Really? I would have never guessed," Sam said dryly. The fight was still fresh in his mind. And Lucifer was an unholy terror, but he hadn't been the only one wreaking havoc on Earth during the Apocalypse.

"Okay, smart ass. Did Luke ever tell you about the first time he tried to quit?" He hadn't. The further back they went into Luke's past, the less Sam knew about it. Gabriel poured milk into his glass, which was already a third of the way filled with chocolate, and stirred it with his fork, clinking it against the sides. "I didn't know at first what had brought him around, but when he showed up, he was scared, and that scared the crap out of me. He didn't want to talk about it, but I convinced Michael to let him stay with us--I was living here with him at the time. It was the perfect set-up: the place is practically a mansion, so they didn't have to see much of each other. Luke found a job, did his part around the house, started building the treehouse to keep himself busy. Things were...good there for a while." Gabriel avoided Sam's eyes and chugged his chocolate milk.

"Then Dad came around." He set his glass down and fidgeted with it, spinning it. "Turns out that right before he'd showed up on our doorstep, Luke had been questioned in a suspicious death. An OD. And when Dad told us it was Lilith, our cousin...everything blew up. Luke swore up and down he didn't have anything to do with it, and I think Michael believed him. But Dad wanted him out. That was the end of it; Michael told him to leave, and he did. He walked out the door with the clothes he had on and I don't think I saw him again for three years." Gabriel stared into the middle distance, studying his ghosts. "I didn't say a thing, either. I let him walk right back into the life that he was trying to escape, and I didn't say a thing." He threw back the rest of his milk like a shot. "I moved out after that. Found a place in Nevada. Swore up and down that I'd never come back. Well, you see how that worked out." He smiled at his own expense.

"Did he have anything to do with it?" Sam asked, suddenly needing to know.

"Officially, it was ruled an accidental overdose. But no. I don't think so."

Sam didn't know what to think about the story. The researcher in him had made note of the references to lore--Lucifer's connection with Lilith's death, God commanding Michael to cast his brother out, Gabriel fleeing Heaven. It wasn't a perfect comparison, but he wondered what else he might learn from it and how much of it was just the djinn's poison filling in the blanks. Allegory had never been his strong suit.

But the part of him that belonged to this place was wishing that he had punched Michael when he'd had the chance. He still remembered too well the long, sleepless bus ride to Stanford with John's angry words of betrayal and Dean's obedient, incriminating silence for company. Knowing that Luke had gone through it, that he had fought tooth and nail for a better life only to have everyone who could have caught him turn their backs on him when he fell--not Luke. Lucifer. _Lucifer_. Even with the reminder, he had to fight down a surge of anger when he looked at Gabriel. The other man must have caught it because his expression turned contrite.

"It's not a story I'm proud of. I didn't tell it to put myself in a good light; that's what the Cancun story's for," he said, waggling his eyebrows. "I just wanted you to know that he's not the only one who had to be forgiven. He's trying, and that's all I'm asking. Pancakes?" Gabriel shoved a plateful of wheat and banana pancakes in his face and almost let go before Sam could grab them.

"Thanks," he said, both for the pancakes and for Gabriel's confidence. He got a fork from the drawer that he had seen Gabriel digging through earlier and cut a chunk of fluffy pancake to put in his mouth. It may have been the best decision he had made since he got here. "Oh my God, Gabriel. These are amazing."

"Normally I wouldn't mind you moaning my name, but no syrup, really? I don't want to hear another blasphemous word out of your filthy whole-grains-and-fruit-loving mouth. It was bad enough I had to make them." Gabriel made sure to pour an extra helping of syrup on his own plate to soothe Mrs. Butterworth's feelings while Sam stuffed a whole pancake in his mouth in retaliation. He almost choked when he saw Gabriel's expression of fascinated horror. After a few pats on the back and an inappropriate Heimlich he finally stopped trying to suck air through a pancake and obliged his sore throat by snooping through the fridge for something to drink.

"So how serious are things between you and Luke?" Gabriel asked pleasantly, and in true form, he had waited until Sam had taken his first gulp of orange juice, which promptly went down the wrong tube.

"Why do you ask?" Sam rasped out what sounded like a death rattle after a solid minute of doing his very best to hack up a lung.

"I want to hear it straight from the moose's mouth. So cough it up," Gabriel said, and Sam heaved a sigh. He tugged at his hair like he could pull the answer out of his brain without having to think it through.

"Luke and I--" Sam started, then stopped. He took a breath and regrouped. "We, uh...We're good."

"Uh-huh," Gabriel said, drawing the syllables out. "I never thought I'd see a worse liar than Luke, but you are bad. It's physically painful to watch. How are you a lawyer again?"

"That's a misconception. Lawyers have to stick to the facts, so actually--"

"So actually, yada, yada, yada," Gabriel said, miming a mouth with his hand. In the stunned silence, he searched Sam's face with shrewd eyes. "Stop avoiding the question. I thought you and Luke just had a tiff out there in the woods, but this is something bigger, isn't it?"

Maybe he was as bad a liar as Gabriel suggested, since he couldn't seem to convince anyone that he and Lucifer were in a relationship; though, in all honesty, he hadn't given it much effort. He wasn't sure how necessary it was to keep up the charade, but he was reluctant to make things more complicated than they had to be.

"We had a fight in the woods. But that's all that happened," Sam conceded, and occupied himself with drinking his orange juice.

"Mm-hmm," Gabriel said with sass. "Fine, don't tell me. But I'm an excellent confidant, I'll have you know." He shoved another piece of pancake in his mouth.

"Uh-huh." He was doubtful considering Gabriel had spilled his and his brother's life stories with little prompting.

They stayed there for a while, Gabriel chattering away about embarrassing and occasionally explicit stories, including the one about Cancun, in an attempt to get a rise out of Sam while he worked his way through his plate of pancakes, being careful to chew before he swallowed. They paused when they heard the front door open and close followed by booted footsteps making their way across the entryway and up the stairs.

Sam was looking off to the side, listening intently, when Gabriel surprised him by shoving another plate against his chest. He took it reflexively before looking down at a mound of chocolate-chip pancakes covered with chocolate syrup and whipped cream. He looked at Gabriel.

"He's in the sun room," he said.

"And these are for...?"

"Because I know that look. You're the guilty party, aren't you?" he asked, but didn't wait for an answer. He made a shooing motion and then proceeded to push Sam out of the kitchen when he didn't budge. "Go get 'em, tiger." He winked and then vanished.

Sam was amused at Gabriel's strategy of feeding a problem until it went away, but he felt more than a little silly bringing Lucifer make-up pancakes. That anxiety dwindled as he passed the third floor landing and emerged into a room where the entire east- and west-facing walls were made up of windows that extended from the floor all the way up to the roof's peak. He stood at the top step, staring out over the estate grounds and the land beyond, everything bright and warm under the rays of a new sun rising over the edge of the Earth like an eye peering out from beneath the covers.

He eventually tore his eyes away with difficulty and walked towards the sofa where he could see a blond head lying back against the cushions. When he rounded the end, he heard a sharp intake of breath, like he had interrupted Lucifer in the middle of nodding off. He looked up at Sam with eyes that were more heavily lidded than usual as he ran a hand through his hair. The sunlight caught against the lines of his face, turning them gold, but even through the flattering glow, Sam could see the evidence of last night's fight. _Bruises suit him_ , came the strange thought.

"Did you get any sleep?" Sam asked instead of touching on the reason why he was here, because then he would actually have to come up with one.

"I just got up here," he responded, his voice gruff with exhaustion, and he turned back to look out the window.

"Gabriel made breakfast," Sam said, refusing to be irritated by his willful misinterpretation, and he held out the plate. Lucifer's eyes darted towards it, and several seconds passed before he held out a hand to take it. Then he sat blinking down at it for long enough that Sam thought that he was going to refuse to eat anyway before he realized that he had forgotten to grab a fork. He could have smacked himself.

"Uh, I guess it would help if I got you something to eat it with." Sam squeezed his hand in a nervous habit and felt something sticky. There was some chocolate on his thumb and he sucked it off without thinking. Lucifer quirked an eyebrow.

"No need," Lucifer said as he deliberately tore off a chunk of pancake and stuffed it in his mouth, sucking the syrup off his fingers as he pulled them out. Sam's eyebrows climbed higher until he ignored the spectacle and the fluttering in his stomach by searching for a place to sit. Lucifer was sprawled in the middle of the sofa, but he shifted to one side to make room. There was other furniture besides the sofa, but Sam was trying to keep things civil, so he took the invitation, though he sat as far from Lucifer as he could without balancing on the arm rest.

They both stayed that way for a while, quietly watching the sunrise. Sam thought he should feel like he was intruding on Lucifer's solitude, because this seemed like a private ritual, but it was hard not to relax with the beautiful scenery and the sun beaming in, warming up the room. Actually, it was getting a bit too warm. He tugged up the sleeves of his jacket but he couldn't get them over his forearms; he really should have put on a shirt. He glanced over at Lucifer, who was now admiring him instead of the view, and he was suddenly very aware of the silence.

"Gabriel thinks that we're having relationship trouble," Sam blurted, then worried whether talking about Gabriel was the right way to start this conversation, considering what he had said earlier. He kept an eye out for the anger and grief that he had seen in the woods, but there was only polite interest, like he was listening to Sam talk about his day.

"Are we?" Lucifer asked mildly, running his tongue over his thumb. "You tell me. It's more your area of expertise." That stirred up thoughts of Jessica and Ruby, and Sam wanted to start a fight so badly that he could taste blood. But the idea of turning the inside of his own head into yet another battleground, fighting bitterly until--what? Until he proved to himself that he wouldn't give in? He had already lost that battle in Detroit, in the Cage, in Coeur d'Alene; he wouldn't have to lose again if he didn't turn this into another battle. That resolution didn't make biting his tongue any easier.

"It doesn't matter what any of them think. They're just figments of my imagination, right?" Sam asked, tiredness smothering his brief anger. Then his own words brought him to another realization: Lucifer was the only one here he could talk to who wasn't a product of this dream, and he didn't want to lose that. He could feel his hair stand on end at the thought, and he smoothed a hand along the back of his neck, glancing at the other man. He looked like he was giving the question more consideration than Sam thought was warranted.

"If they knew that we are aware that we're dreaming, they'd probably lock us up in the loony bin. Put us under suicide watch to keep us from leaving."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Sam said, his voice hard with the memory of bare walls and tile floors and lying sleepless in a hospital bed, but Lucifer didn't react to the glare that Sam sent his way. He just tore off another bite of pancake and plopped it into his mouth.

"Where's your phone?" Sam asked, steering the conversation in a safer direction. "When I tried to call you earlier, it went straight to voicemail."

Lucifer wiped his fingers on his shirt, which Sam almost protested before he saw that the shirt was ruined anyway, what with the blood and other stains. Sam did protest when Lucifer leaned towards him, close enough that he could smell the night's work on his skin. He splayed his hand in a calming gesture, bright blue eyes never leaving his as he slowly reached into Sam's jacket pocket and pulled out a phone.

"It's dead. I forgot to charge it," he said, clicking the power button in demonstration.

"Did you bring the chargers?" Sam asked tonelessly, and he knew the indignant look that he would get for that question before he even asked it.

"It was your job to pack them."

Sam stared at him for a long moment before he set his face in his hands, his brain trying and failing once again to reconcile two sets of memories. He was glad at least that the phone was dead--he didn't have to see the obligatory couple photo of him kissing Luke that he knew was the screensaver. The same one that was on his phone.

He felt a hand on his back. He wanted to move away. He wanted to lean closer. So he sat still, propping his head in his hands and staring sightlessly out the window.

"Do you feel okay?"

"Shouldn't you be able to tell?"

"I'm working blind and deaf here, Sam," Lucifer said, pulling his hand away, his words rough with frustration. "I know how you should be, and I know how djinn poison damages the body, but I'm doing everything by touch with both hands tied behind my back. So, no, I can't tell. Not for sure."

"I'm fine," Sam said softly, looking at him. "Why are you still pretending to be Luke?" Because that's what this was, the bickering and the concern. Lucifer appeared to mull that one over a few times before responding.

"Do you remember when we met?" he asked finally.

"I wish I didn't," Sam said, seeing Jessica's face morph into Lucifer's all over again.

"Castiel tried to set us up, but he didn't know that you were already dating at the time. Then we kept missing each other for years until you wandered, heartbroken, into Flaming D's," Lucifer continued, and Sam remembered that meeting just as clearly. Cas had recommended a place that Sam hadn't realized was a gay bar; the one where Cas' brother bartended, at that. But he had left that night with Luke's number and a feeling like he could finally pick his heart up off the floor and move on.

"That didn't actually happen."

"No," Lucifer admitted. "But I remember it. I remember living his life. That's all he is, Sam--memories. I'm not pretending to be him; if anything, he was a poor imitation of me."

"Maybe you're right. He didn't actually kill his brother," he snapped, feeling like Lucifer was taunting him for being weak, for falling in love with his shadow.

"Oh, ouch. You really got me there," Lucifer deadpanned, mopping up the chocolate syrup on his plate with the rest of his pancake. Sam shook his head at the deflection, but took a minute to reign in his temper.

"Luke's story has a lot in common with yours."

"What you know or what you've heard?" Lucifer asked, peering up at him. He stuffed the rest of the pancake in his mouth.

"From what I could piece together." He rubbed his hands against his pants, unsure about broaching this topic. "But there are some gaps in what I know. Like, Gabriel said that Michael promised to help you--to help Luke, and then he threw him out." Lucifer hummed, setting his empty plate on the couch next to him and stretching an arm along the back, looking out the window. "Is that what actually happened?"

"Michael betrayed me, yes," Lucifer said, glancing at Sam. "Is that news to you?" It was; he had taken the blame that Lucifer had heaped on everyone except himself with a grain of salt considering the circumstances.

"Did that have something to do with Lilith?" Sam hazarded. Lucifer's eyes widened before his brows lowered ominously. "It did."

"Gabriel," he said like an oath, "needs to learn to keep his mouth shut."

"He said Luke's Dad tossed him out because of Lilith's death."

"And so do you," Lucifer said, giving him a piercing look. "Where are you going with this, Sam?"

"I just want the answers you said you'd give me," he said, making an effort to keep his voice neutral.

"When did I say that?" he asked, and Sam wracked his brain for an answer, but couldn't remember Lucifer actually agreeing to the terms Sam had set at the beginning, for him to answer all of Sam's questions or else. He'd just taken it for granted and Lucifer had played along. "Everything I've given you so far has been out of the 'goodness of my heart'." Sam recognized his own words being thrown back at him. "But this doesn't concern you or your situation."

"Then humor me," he said. "What happened?"

"Luke made some bad choices and he suffered the consequences," Lucifer said like he was telling the moral of a story while keeping his gaze, then he grabbed his plate and got up. Sam stood up at the same time and followed him around the couch, heading him off before he reached the stairs.

"And what about you? What were the bad choices you made?" Sam asked, but Lucifer just looked at him like he could wait there until Sam died of old age and turned to dust. "Am I getting too personal? Because you were rooting around in my head from the beginning, so sorry if I'm not sympathetic."

"Just because I impinged on your sexual fantasies doesn't mean I owe you an explanation," he said glibly.

"Lilith was the first demon. You created her, right?" Sam continued, ignoring Lucifer's jab. "Is that why you were cast out?" Lucifer looked down at the plate he was holding, which he was gripping like he was going to break it in half, and Sam was caught off guard by the vulnerability of the gesture.

"Lilith wasn't my fault," Lucifer said before looking up. He stayed quiet for long enough that Sam assumed that was all he was going to say on the matter.

"Was Gabriel?" Sam pressed quietly, and Lucifer's face closed off even as his usually ever-present smirk made an appearance for the first time in a while. It looked more like a grimace.

"Are you pushing because you're expecting me to snap? To torture you? To kill you? Is that what this is?"

"No," Sam said, sticking his hands in the pockets of his jacket. Maybe that's what he had expected on some level since the beginning, but not now. "I just want to know."

"Then go ask Gabriel," Lucifer said, but Sam caught him by the shoulder before he could walk past. He yanked away, dropping the plate in the process, and shoved Sam with his full strength. It was nowhere near angelic, but Sam still staggered backwards and fell before he could get his balance, long limbs tangling as he sprawled on the floor.

Lucifer prowled closer, boots crunching on the shards of ceramic, until he was towering over Sam, his expression stark and vicious. He continued to move so that his back was to the sun and his face was in shadow, but the ambient light glowed in his eyes like hell-fire. Sam's heart was beating hard in his throat.

"If you were going to hurt me, you would have done it by now," Sam said with as much conviction as he could muster. He extended an arm, entreating Lucifer for help. It was a struggle to keep his hand steady as he imagined a pitying grin spreading across the face above him, a snort of amusement escaping at his gullibility. Then Lucifer turned his head and Sam saw that he was worrying at his split lip with his teeth, his expression pensive, before he took Sam's hand in his own. It was bandaged--the same hand that had been bleeding when he had touched Sam during the fight, but he didn't wince or show any sign of pain when he pulled him up.

They had an awkward stand-off, neither knowing how to continue. Lucifer leaned against the back of the couch, crossing his arms, while Sam scooted broken ceramic out from underneath his feet.

"Do you know the story of Abraham and Isaac?" Lucifer asked, and Sam squinted through the light of the sun rising behind Lucifer, trying to see his face, but he couldn't make out his features.

"Yeah, I'm familiar," he said uncertainly, confused as to why the Devil would be telling him Bible stories.

"Abraham was a true believer. He travelled three days into the desert to set up the altar where he would sacrifice his own son, all because it was part of God's plan. And when he got there, and he was seconds away from plunging that knife through Isaac's chest, God rewarded his faith; He spoke to him and stayed his hand," Lucifer spoke, and a chill started at the base of Sam's spine and crept beneath his skin as he listened.

"When I was free of the Cage, I played my part in His plan, like a good prodigal son. Then Gabriel forced my hand by going against it. But I thought--surely, God wouldn't stand quietly by and let one of his archangels, his first children, die. I was so certain that he was testing my faith, again...Until I stabbed Gabriel with his blade, and there was no voice from on high. And then I felt him stop, just cease to be." Lucifer's words stuttered and crawled to a stop like a wounded thing, and a moment passed before he started again. "Abraham obeyed Him, and He spared Isaac. He resurrected His precious Christ, His _human_ son. And apparently even Castiel was worth His attention. So why did He let Gabriel die?" he asked desolately and looked up through the glass dome ceiling to the sky above. "Why did I have to kill my brother?" Then he bowed his head, like he couldn't bear the weight of his Father's silence.

Sam had to look away; it felt painful and profane to witness Lucifer's grief, like he was glimpsing the archangel without his vessel. He felt a tear spill over onto his cheek, and he quickly wiped it away. Lucifer's pain resonated with him, brought up memories that he had buried deep because he had never learned how to dull their edges: the miserable years spent fighting with John while still clinging to the only family he had; the countless nights agonizing over his flaws, _praying_ that he could change so that he could be a better son; Dean admitting to him that his _own father_ had told him to kill Sam. He told himself that Lucifer had still killed his brother, regardless of his tragic reasons, but he wasn't in any position to pass judgment. He may not have killed Adam, but he knew that the fate he had condemned him to was unforgivable. He gritted his teeth and tried to rub away the uncomfortable prickling behind his eyes.

When he had composed himself enough to look up, Lucifer had his arms braced against the back of the couch, his head still resting against his chest. Sam would think that Lucifer was influencing his thoughts if he still believed that the archangel had any power to spare. But the truth of it might be what he had always denied: that they had something in common--call it destiny, design, whatever--that gave Sam some insight, when he let it.

"I thought that the lethal dose of poison was the reason why this dream didn't make sense. But that's because it isn't my dream. It's yours," Sam said. He wanted to ask what God's plan had been for Lucifer, why he had followed it when his defining characteristic was rebellion; instead, he put Lucifer's confession out of his mind and refocused his thoughts.

"How do you figure?" Lucifer asked as he looked up, his voice rough.

"What you've told me...Some of the details match up with Luke's past. But the poison couldn't have taken that from my mind, because I didn't know it," Sam explained. "That, and the angels kind of gave it away."

"I can see how you came to that conclusion. But this isn't my dream, Sam. It's ours," he stated. Sam's brow furrowed, both at the word "ours" and because he hadn't thought that two people could influence the same djinn dream. He had also believed that djinn dreams couldn't be shared, but apparently none of those rules applied to the piece of archangel hitching a ride in his soul. The idea that this world was the product of Lucifer's mind had been more than a little troubling, but the trade off was that now he knew for a fact that some part of this scenario was a reflection of his own desires. Which part wasn't something he wanted to debate right now.

"It's kind of...domestic," Sam insinuated, looking around the room and beyond it to the house and the people in it, all architected, at least in part, by someone with an infamous hatred of humanity. With that in mind, it was all shockingly ordinary.

Lucifer gave a short hum and not much else. He turned his head and Sam didn't expect the tear tracks that he saw on his face. He convinced himself that the pang he felt was surprise.

"Is there anything I can use to clean this up?" Sam asked, looking down at the shattered remains of the plate so he didn't have to look at him. Lucifer walked into the small bathroom and came back out holding a brush and a dust pan, which he handed wordlessly to Sam. Lucifer's quiet compliance was eerie; he had always been an intrusive, inescapable presence in Sam's mind. He may have been wrong about Lucifer--he wasn't the Devil he had known in the Cage, not entirely. He had to admit that he wasn't sure exactly who he was dealing with anymore, and that was unsettling.

Lucifer picked up the larger pieces while Sam swept up the rest, each of them working around the other effortlessly. After they dumped the shards in the trash, Sam put the brush and pan back under the sink. He stood up to see Lucifer already walking towards the stairs.

"Lucifer," he said, and after what he'd demanded of him already, Sam thought he would be justified if he kept walking. But he turned back like he hadn't considered any other option.

Sam looked at the drying tears on his face, and thought about what he would say if Lucifer were someone else: words of comfort, validation, consolation. Instead he just said, "Your, uh..." before his words tapered off and he settled for pointing at his own cheek.

Lucifer scrubbed a hand over his face, and then rubbed his fingers slowly over his palm, and if Sam had expected him to be abashed or humiliated, he was disappointed; Lucifer gave him a look as if to ask if he was coming and walked away down the stairs. After a last look around the bright, sunlit room, Sam followed.


End file.
